The Last Dance: The Lost Scrolls
by KalenCaelli
Summary: A collection of one-shots from Leliana's private collection. A companion piece to The Last Dance, but designed to stand alone on its own merits. Updated: Our Warden and her bard say their final goodbyes.
1. The Dance

**Author's Note:** This is one of many projects I have in the pipeline, but I am posting this one now because it serves as a companion piece to my main story. Because I do not want to break the format of the main piece, which is set along the course of Leliana's ballad, I decided to post this as a separate entity. It, of course, falls within the universe of my Warden, Kallian. There will probably be another chapter or two within this story: mostly scenes that I cannot fit into the confines of my main piece. They will not be in chronological order, by any means.

**Disclaimer:** Dragon Age and its characters of course belong to Bioware. My rendition of Kallian belongs to me. This chapter is rated M for a reason, and while tasteful contains explicit scenes of lovemaking between my favorite protagonists. If that makes you all uptight, then I suggest you look elsewhere.

**Rating:** M (for good reason).

* * *

><p><strong><span>The Last Dance: Lost Scrolls<span>**

**The Dance**

"Fynn!"

Kallian scowled at the Mabari, pinning him with the most threatening expression she could muster – which at the time wasn't much, considering the way her pulse thundered loudly in her ears from the lengthy kiss he'd interrupted. Gods … her heart was pounding like she had just fought a hundred Darkspawn. Her head was still spinning. Her lips tingled from the intimate contact.

Kissing Leliana had been ... amazing ... incredible ... exhilarating … words alone could not describe it. Kallian looked down at their linked hands, marveling at the familiarity, the way the bard's hand so comfortably fit around her own smaller one. She had not expected that – the ease of which they'd settled into their roles.

There was relief there, also. Though she would not admit it openly, Kallian had been more than a little worried about the disparity in their sexual histories. Growing up in the alienage, she'd had little opportunity to date anyone her age. Most of the boys couldn't stand having a girl around that could best them in a fight, and the girls teased her mercilessly about her boyish appearance. That is, when they acknowledged her at all. Most of the elders had heartily disapproved of Adaia's activities had used her death as an example about the dangers of being a renegade.

Kallian was aware she could be considered pretty, maybe even beautiful by some standards. But the swordplay, the sneaking around, cutting purses had severely limited the number of willing suitors. After all, she hardly fit the profile of a demure housewife. In fact, from a young age, Kallian had kept to herself, well aware that she was "different" from her peers. Her only true friends and playmates had been her cousins Soris and Shianni.

That wasn't to say she had no suitors. There had been a few boys in the alienage she had allowed to kiss her – mostly to stave off the tide of rumors that would have seriously harmed her family's reputation if the truth had been more widely known. In a community where family ties were extremely important, being different could be dangerous. So Kallian had learned to hide her deepest desires, cloaking herself in her solitude.

Those times when the loneliness had become unbearable, she'd been careful to take her activities far beyond the alienage, hanging around the docks, making friends with the whores and other cutpurses that frequented the Pearl.

Kallian's cheeks darkened a little at that thought. She was not a complete innocent. There had been one woman at the Pearl who'd taken more than a cursory interest in the elf. It had been she who'd opened the Warden's eyes to the concept of pleasures far beyond her wildest dreams.

But this – this was so much more than a mere tumble in the sack. Kallian's thumb traced over the bard's hand in wonder, glancing shyly at the other woman. Those eyes were focused on her now, and she became immersed in those infinite pools of blue, realizing she was hopelessly lost.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Leliana couldn't help but smile, reaching out and tracing a finger along the crook of Kallian's arm. The Warden's eyes had lost their focus, as they sometimes did whenever the elf was deep in thought. Her ear tips darkened at the casual contact.

"Perhaps it is best we continue elsewhere, no?" She brushed the ebony tendrils from the younger woman's forehead. Kallian's eyes darted to Fynn, sniffing conspicuously before pushing to her feet.

"Your room or mine?" Such an innocent question, but Leliana could detect the signs of arousal hidden beneath the otherwise composed surface. It was subtle, the slight dilation of her pupils, the way her ears twitched in anticipation – or nervousness – the bard could not be completely sure.

She thought on Kallian's question – they both had warm rooms waiting for them at Redcliffe castle. Arl Eamon had seen to their comfort. But the mood in the castle was somber, and their rooms, while spacious, were a little too close to the prying ears of the palace servants she was sure Eamon had in place to spy on them.

"I was thinking ..." Leliana's weighed her words cautiously. It would do no good to draw Kallian's suspicions to the Arl needlessly. She was far too innocent in such intrigues – and there was no reason to upset her over what would be standard precautions in noble circles. "I think," she continued, "that I would like to sleep beneath the stars."

Kallian's head jerked, frowning at the bard. "Beneath the stars?" Her voice was dubious. "We sleep beneath the stars every night." _On hard bedrolls, to boot._ The Warden favored her with her best puppy-dog eyes, hoping to appeal to the bard's better nature. "What about a warm bed at the castle? Doesn't that sound more appealing than a bedroll?"

Leliana's lip quirked in amusement. "I was just thinking how nice it would be to spend the evening alone with you under the stars," she leaned in, allowing her body to press closer to the elf's. Earlier in the day, they had established a camp a respectable distance away from the castle, just in case a hasty retreat proved necessary. Fortunately, Eamon had been accommodating, understanding the necessity of Isolde's death while mourning her loss. "Our rooms at the castle are far too close to the others. And I …" She trailed a finger down the Warden's forearm, watching the elf shiver. "…I would very much like some privacy…"

Kallian's eyes fluttered closed, weighing the benefits of privacy compared to the creature comforts afforded by the castle. Leliana's body drew even closer, and an unholy image of the two of them flashed through her mind. _Gods…_

"Okay," Kallian began to tug urgently on the bard's hand. "Let's go."

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

The walk to the campsite took forever.

Oh, the evening was pleasant enough. A light breeze wove its way through the trees, giving the evening a crisp feel. There was a slight chill in the autumn air, but it was neither too hot nor too cold. The stars shone brightly, and if she looked just a bit to the right, Leliana could make out the stars of Alindra and her soldier shining down on them.

They talked about everything and nothing as they walked. Well, the bard did most of the talking. Kallian did her best to respond anytime Leliana asked her a question, but she was becoming increasingly distracted by the proximity of the Orlesian's body to her own. Was she just imagining it or did the temperature seem to be steadily increasing?

It was about a half hour's walk to the clearing where they'd set up an alternative campsite. It was not much – just a few bedrolls and a canvas tent, along with a small fire pit with a few prepared logs.

"Why don't you get a fire going, and I'll set up the bedrolls?" Leliana's breath fell upon the Warden's ear, sending an involuntary shiver through the younger woman's body. The barest whisper of lips brushed across the back of her neck, and then was gone, the bard sauntering smoothly towards the other side of the campsite. Kallian's eyes followed the sway of Leliana's hips, clamping her mouth firmly shut lest she start to drool like an idiot.

_By all the gods..._

Kallian glanced down at Fynn, who chuffed at her in amusement before trotting off into the forest. Somehow, she didn't think he would be back before morning, and if she was lucky enough he would keep any unwelcome visitors from stumbling across the pair until daybreak. Her feet began to move of their own accord, bringing her to the fire pit. Without much thought, she began to arrange the logs as Duncan had shown her long ago, neatly stacking the tinder in the middle of the bundle before drawing her flint and striker.

Damnit, her hands were shaking so badly she could barely create a spark. She fumbled the first few tries, muttering curses under her breath, trying to coax a flame to life. Kallian bit her lower lip as she sought to steady her trembling fingers.

"Relax." Leliana's arms slid around the elf's body, her own hands guiding the other woman's into the familiar motions. The tinder finally caught spark, smoking for a moment before a tiny flame was born.

Kallian glanced at the bard gratefully, but Leliana was already across the site, rummaging through her pack. Cool green eyes roamed appreciatively over the bard's backside before shifting their focus back to the small fire, adding a few smaller twigs to the pile of tinder so that it would take hold.

"Here, take a sip of this." A canteen was handed over to the Warden, who grabbed it without question, assuming it was one of the water skins she'd filled earlier. The deceptively sweet but potent mulled wine hit the back of her throat unexpectedly, causing the Warden to cough and sputter violently.

A hand rapped sharply against Kallian's back. "Breathe!" The combination of Leliana's frantic voice and the sharp blow finally startled the Warden into drawing a shuddering breath. Gasping for air, the elf finally regained control over her lungs, smiling weakly into the worried blue pair.

"I'm fine," Kallian managed to touch the bard's arm reassuringly. "Just unexpected, that's all."

Leliana looked dubious, but nodded gracefully, taking her own, much smaller sip from the skin before setting it aside. Blue eyes met green once again, anticipation beginning to build.

Gods, she just wanted to reach over to the bard and grab her, kiss her, never let her go. Her eyes met the Orlesian's own, and she could see the yearning there, the hesitation, and a hint of fear behind those baby blues.

The Warden wondered if this would be Leliana's first time to have a lover since Marjolaine, and then quickly shoved the question from her mind. Any thought of the Bardmaster was sure to sour the mood. Better to focus on the here and now.

"I haven't..." Kallian offered, hoping to assuage the redhead's fears. "I mean I have but it's been..." A deep blush colored her features. Gods, why couldn't she simply say what was on her mind? The bard's face relaxed visibly, offering Kallian a shy smile, which, of course, made the elf blush all the harder.

"Relax." A pair of calloused hands cupped Kallian's cheeks, bringing their lips to meet once more. Creators, what was it about this woman that so effectively sent thought fleeing from her mind? Leliana's lips were impossibly full, and soft, and Maker she could spend hours lost in this gentle exploration.

Leliana's fingers wove through her hair, threading through the dark locks and drawing her yet closer, deepening the contact. Kallian couldn't help but moan as the bard's tongue traced across her lower lip, followed by a gentle nip and a deeper exploration that caused her to ache in all the right places. Her hands slipped around the Orlesian's waist, exploring the bard's fervently, the warmth radiating from her belly.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Leliana felt the tension leave the elf's shoulder as Kallian relaxed into the kiss, allowing the bard to guide her in this – this delicate and most intimate dance.

She harbored no illusions that her experience level far surpassed the elf's own, though truth be told she had been greatly relieved to know the Warden had at least been with someone. Though the admission had piqued her interest, to say the least, that would remain a conversation for another time. She did wonder, for a brief moment, if Kallian's realm of experience had been limited only to the male gender.

Kallian's palm came to rest against the side of her breast, her thumb tracing idly across her covered nipple.

Obviously not.

Her nipples began to harden, tightening under the Warden's tentative explorations. Leliana's head arched back, allowing herself free reign to explore the Warden's own body, marveling at how very different it felt.

For one, most elves were thin, with delicate structures and slender builds. Kallian, though slender, was more solid, and the bard could feel the play of the muscles rippling under her armor. Leliana wondered if the non-stop fighting made the difference. It certainly wasn't the elf's eating habits. Kallian ate like a Mabari, putting away huge quantities of food though she never gained an ounce.

Leliana feathered her kisses across the Warden's jaw line, tracing a deliberate path towards a waiting earlobe, capturing the willing flesh between tongue and teeth. Kallian gasped, her entire body going rigid. The bard grinned, glad to see her memory still served her well.

Elves were extraordinarily sensitive about their ears.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

She had forgotten how to breathe.

Leliana's tongue traced up the slope of her outer ear, her teeth neatly nibbling on the sensitive skin. Kallian's knees began to shake under the bard's ministrations, an involuntary groan escaping her mouth from the gentle flicks of the bard's tongue.

Long slender fingertips found the buckles that held her shoulder pauldrons in place, working seamlessly to relieve the Warden of that offending bit of armor. Kallian gasped as Leliana reluctantly shifted her attentions from the ear, pulling the pauldrons overhead and tossing them expertly to the wayside.

"Make sure to breathe." Leliana's eyes twinkled mischievously as she lifted Kallian's hands, slowly untying the laces for her reinforced bracers. The Warden's pulse jumped with each pass of the bard's fingertips across her bare skin. Leliana drew the elf's wrist upwards, her lips pressing softly against the smooth inner skin, grinning at the spike in her lover's pulse. They soon joined the pauldrons, and causing the Warden to shiver in anticipation.

"Cold, love?" Kallian shook her head at the Orlesian's lilting voice, trembling as Leliana removed her boots, then her trews, glad she maintained enough semblance of balance to remain upright as the bard slid up her body, fingertips playing against the laces that held her leather armor in place. The elf's eyes slid shut as the bard's lips closed on her earlobe once more, growing dizzy at the pleasurable sensations as the last of her armor was peeled away from her body and the night breeze drew goosebumps from her skin.

When she opened her eyes she saw the bard's curious gaze perusing her body. Leliana's fingertips trailed up a bare arm, finding a path between the various scars of battle, lingering briefly at a particularly long one that stretched across her belly. Questioning eyes met Kallian's, and the elf dipped her head, color darkening her cheeks.

"The guard captain who killed Nelaros," Kallian admitted, grimacing at the unwelcome memories. "Just before I slit his throat." It was by far not the only mark on her body. She'd been a Grey Warden at least six moons now, and had seen never-ending battle since that time. Of course, she supposed she could have had Wynne heal it, but...

"It's a part of who you are." The bard's lips hovered close to her ears. "And I think you are beautiful." Leliana's head dipped down, capturing the Warden's mouth once more in a hungry kiss, and Kallian twined her own fingertips around the bard's neck, greedily drawing her into deeper exploration.

Hands trailed over her body, memorizing the smooth contours, tracing over each and every scar. Fingertips trailed along her ribs, and then against the undersides of her breast, playing with the cloth that bound them. Then Leliana's palm cupped her breast through the fabric, thumb sweeping across a rapidly hardening nipple, her free hand slipping around the Warden's back and finding the edge of the fabric, beginning to unwind it.

_Gods._ Kallian had never expected this to feel so good. She shivered as the last of the fabric fell away, nipples tightening painfully in the chill night air, and then the bard's hands were caressing and kneading the soft flesh, teasing and playing as the ever-enticing lips began to follow a path down the elf's jaw.

The Warden's back arched as Leliana's lips found a sensitive spot along her neck, nipping lightly at the flesh, then kissing deeper. Her hands were everywhere, along her breasts, her back, her inner thighs...

_Holy..._ Kallian nearly fell as the bard's palm pressed upwards into more intimate regions, knowledgeable fingers tugging at the last remaining bit of fabric. The elf shivered as the smallclothes were drawn down her legs, kicking them aside as she was drawn full length against the bard, whose hand was working its way between...

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

"Wait."

Leliana's hand hesitated, her pulse hammering loudly in her ears, her own arousal piqued at the sight of her lover's lithe form. She looked deeply into those impossibly green eyes, which were heavy-lidded with passion. Kallian's own fingertips trailed to the neckline of the bard's own armor, eyes searching the redhead's for permission.

The bard bit her lower lip. She knew this moment had been coming. But she had taken great pains over the years to cover the scars inflicted upon her by the Orlesian Chevaliers. No one had ever seen them before – she had taken great pains to conceal them from everyone during her time in the Chantry. Even after she had met Kallian, she had taken care to change clothes only in the privacy of her tent, favoring those items that covered her neck and arms.

As if sensing her hesitation, Kallian's hands closed over her own. The bard lifted her chin, meeting the elf's worried expression.

"May I?" Came the gentle inquiry. Leliana's eyes closed, fighting back the tears. It was foolish, really. She couldn't very well make love with her clothes on. However, if Kallian saw her, truly saw the damage that had been done to her, and she was repulsed – tears welled in the bard's eyes. She wasn't sure she could handle that.

Lips pressed softly against her own, a small hand reaching up and cupping her chin, forcing her to meet the earnest emerald gaze.

"I love you, Leliana." Kallian said softly. "No matter what you decide."

_I love you._

Three simple words, spoken with such earnestness it nearly broke her heart.

_I love you._

Words so easily manipulated for darker purposes, as she well knew. Yet, as she looked deeply into the Warden's eyes, she sensed no duplicity, no deceit.

Kallian truly loved her.

Leliana nodded, lowering her hands, willing herself to trust the younger woman. After a moment's pause, Kallian's fingers began to work at the buckles and straps that held her armor into place. The bard closed her eyes, cowardly, she knew, but still scared of the expression she would see in the Warden's eyes.

At last her tunic was separated from her body, exposing her skin to the chill night air. But there was no sharp intake of breath, no gasp of horror. For a long, agonizing moment there was complete and total silence.

Then there was the press of a mouth against her collarbone, a pair of lips finding their way to her ear.

"Beautiful."

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Kallian could not believe the sheer number of scars that marred Leliana's body.

Some were faint, small white lines barely visible to the naked eye. Others, more pronounced, rose angrily against the pale background, red rivers cutting swaths across otherwise delicate skin.

They covered nearly every inch of the bard's torso, running down her arms to mid-elbow and clear to her knees. They wrapped around her ribs and trailed angrily down her back. One particular cluster of scars circled the bard's left shoulder blade, forming a pattern that Kallian recognized. Clearly the brand of an iron.

**Traître.**

_Traitor._

_Andraste help me._

Kallian's first thoughts were of deep, unrelenting rage. How could Marjolaine, or anyone, for that matter, do something like that to another person? Leliana had practically worshipped the ground the Bardmaster walked on. It made little sense. Her thoughts then turned to vengeance, a foolish notion, she knew, especially since Marjolaine was dead. There certainly was no feasible way to return to Orlais to track down the Chevaliers who had done this. At least not in the middle of a Blight.

The bard was trembling, Kallian realized, and only then did it occur to her that she'd been completely silent on the matter. Shame, mingled with a fair bit of regret, captured her in a vice-like grip. How selfish could she be, entertaining foolish notions of revenge while Leliana simply stood there, baring her soul?

Kallian shoved those darker emotions down, storing them away for the battlefield, focusing on seeing the bard for the first time.

This was a woman who had braved the very fires of hell itself, emerging still with an unshakable faith in the Maker and retaining a good bit of her humanity in the process. Other women – lesser women – might have been broken by the experience.

But not Leliana.

Andraste herself couldn't have looked so beautiful.

Kallian stepped closer to the bard, reaching out and tentatively touching the bard's chest, shivering at the proximity of their naked bodies. She pressed her lips against the bard's collarbone, nuzzling one of the scars. Heard Leliana's sharp intake of breath, before allowing herself to rise on her tiptoes and whisper sensuously in the bard's ear.

"Beautiful."

And she meant it. Leliana's eyes shot open, filled with wonder and incredulity. Kallian gently cupped the bard's cheek, bringing her lips to the bard's, allowing all her passion into the tender gesture.

And then she stepped back, taking the bard by the hands and drawing her down to the bedroll, hissing at the wonderful press of skin upon skin. And Leliana's lips were upon her, kissing her with ardor. Hands slid up Kallian's ribs, over her stomach, cupping her breasts, causing the Warden to arch involuntarily into her lover's caress. She saw stars as Leliana's lips traced a path along her jawline, latching onto her pulse point and suckling greedily.

Kallian's mind was spinning, awash in a wave of emotion and pleasure. She moaned softly as the bard's lips followed the curve of her neck down to her collarbone, spending several minutes in exploration there before kissing a trail down to her...

_Andraste's tits!_

Kallian's hips shot off the bedroll as a set of full lips closed around one of her peaks, suckling softly, causing her to float on waves of pleasure that rose higher and higher. The sensation of lips, teeth, and tongue was overwhelming, sending tendrils of ecstasy through her body.

The Warden's back arched, fingernails digging lightly into the bard's skin as a hand slid up her inner thigh, fingers slipping into moist heat. Kallian writhed, gasping in pleasure as the touch deepened, overloading her senses.

The bard's thumb slid upwards, brushing lightly against the pulsating bundle of nerves, sending Kallian spiraling ever higher. And then she was falling – gloriously falling – her cries of pleasure echoing into the night. And Leliana was there, holding her, soothing syllables of Orlesian falling from her lips, bringing the Warden slowly down from incredible heights.

Kallian's eyes remained closed, her chest rising and falling raggedly, attempting to gain some semblance of composure. She could feel the bard's heart beating against her own, savoring the sensation of her lover's chest rising and falling. She trailed a hand up Leliana's side, gently cupping a cheek and drawing the bard into a tender kiss.

"I never thought I could ever feel like this," Kallian murmured, pressing her forehead against the bard's own. She opened her eyes, immersing herself into the dark pools of blue. "I love you."

Leliana's eyes closed, leaning into Kallian's touch. "I ... love you too..." her voice was filled with more than a bit of longing. "I never expected to find anyone who..." the bard's voice trailed off, glancing away. "I mean... I look like..." Tears pooled in those blue depths. "Like..."

"Emma Lath," Kallian whispered in the old tongue, her thumb brushing away the tears before they could form. _My love._ Blue eyes lifted, trepidation mingling with hope and wonder. "I meant what I said earlier. You are beautiful."

She slid her fingertips through the bard's locks, drawing her into a lengthy kiss, allowing her actions to convey what words could not. She wound her fingers through the bard's hair, pulling the Orlesian even closer, feeling the tension in muscles melt away, certainty giving rise to new passions.

Kallian traced a thumb up the bard's side, brushing across an already taut nipple. Their lips parted for a moment, the bard's neck arcing back, exposing long, lean lines that looked absolutely delectable. The Warden wasted no time exploring that bit of skin, her tongue blazing a trail from Leliana's shoulder blade up to a waiting earlobe, nibbling softly.

Leliana's skin smelled faintly of lavender and jasmine, mingled with another, sweeter scent that was the bard's alone. Kallian shifted, bringing her thigh between her lover's legs, inhaling sharply at the bard's clear arousal. She shifted, bringing her lips across the bard's collarbone, bringing the bard underneath her, groaning at the intimate contact of skin upon skin.

"Kallian." Leliana whispered her lover's name like a benediction. "Please."

The elf's lips nibbled down from a collarbone, trailing along the path of one scar – refusing to shy away from any aspect of the Orlesian's body – to one of the bard's taut peaks, suckling gently. Her free hand trailed up the bard's side, kneading the other breast.

"Maker!" The bard writhed under Kallian's ministrations, her cries of pleasure growing louder with each passing moment. The Warden kissed a path between Leliana's breasts, her fingers fluttering along the soft curve of the bard's stomach, dipping down and in to the source of her excitement.

The bard's hips met the Warden's intimate touches, her soft cries escalating. Kallian's own arousal grew with each passing moment, the press of the Orlesian's thigh against her center enough to send her spiraling towards the brink once more.

There was a slight pause, and then Leliana's entire body went rigid, crying out sharply as she reached her peak. They fell together, Warden and bard, riding the endless waves, so lost in sensation it was impossible to tell where one began and ended.

Kallian's eyes were closed, body relaxing against the bard's, trying to catch her breath. Beneath her, Leliana shifted, sweat-slicked bodies gliding against each other until they were laying side-by-side. The Orlesian's hand traced idle patterns against her lover's skin.

Once her heart rate had returned to a more normal level, Kallian opened her eyes. Leliana was watching her, a small, wry smile curling up the corners of her lips.

She looked happy, Kallian realized. Happier than the Warden could remember seeing her. The darkness, the sadness that had been ever-present behind the bard's eyes had been replaced with something else.

_Hope._

The Warden reached up, tracing a finger along her lover's lips. She shivered as the bard captured the errant digit neatly with her teeth, her body beginning to thrum with arousal.

"You are insatiable." Kallian chastised half-heartedly, hissing as Leliana's tongue brushed against the errant digit before pulling away.

The bard's eyes twinned with amusement as she neatly flipped over, pinning her lover's arms high above her head with one of her free hands. "I spent many years in the Chantry." She grinned, leaning in and bringing her lips close to the Warden's ear. "And I have all night to make up for lost time."

Kallian grinned, her hands tugging lightly against Leliana's grip, which did not falter. She hissed as the bard's hand slipped down her inner thigh, causing the muscles to twitch in anticipation. "Do you now?" Her hips rocked forward, hissing at the contact of hand upon skin.

"Oh yes," the bard purred, the barest hint of mischief in her eyes. "Let me show you."


	2. Edge of Hope, Part I

**Title:** Edge of Hope

**Rating:** M

**Disclaimers:** I do not own anything from Dragon Age. Dragon Age and its characters belong to Bioware.

**Author's Notes:** This story actually came about because of a meme prompt, however it has been rather long its path to print. It is about Leliana's time with the Chevaliers and her subsequent escape, and as such, covers some very dark subject matter (Trigger alert). However, it is not explicit, and I have worked very hard to keep it that way for the purposes of this site. I was much more interested in exploring what was going on in the bard's mind. Overall, I decided it fit fairly well as a prequel of sorts to _The Last Dance_, which is why it found it's way here. This story will be posted in two parts.

Some of the inspiration from this story came from a movie called V for Vendetta (or the comic book, for those of you in the nerd-dom). Evey's scene was a particularly poignant one for me.

There are some scenes between Leliana and Marjolaine here, some of which includes violence directed at our fair bard. I've tried to keep everything within the context of the story.

Special Thanks to my two betas for this fic, Leo and Songwriter.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Part I<span>**

_Why?_

It was the only question on Leliana's mind as the guards dragged her down the damp stone path leading to the dungeon. They had not spoken much when they'd taken her, ignoring her pleading questions as they manacled her wrists and ankles together.

She had been in no shape to fight – not after Marjolaine had stabbed her during the middle of what should have been a night of pampering. The attack had been quite unexpected, and Leliana could only lay helplessly on the floor, gasping for air, her mind struggling to wrap around the terrible betrayal. Up until Marjolaine had granted the Chevaliers entrance, she had truly had no idea what was going on. Not until the bardmaster led them to the spot where she lay dying.

Each step of the Chevaliers accentuated the pain from the seeping wound. She was losing blood quickly and feared that she might bleed out before she ever learned the reason for her detainment. The bard glanced down at the red droplets marking her trail, biting her lip to keep from crying out as they brought her around the corner and into a darkened room.

_Marjolaine, how could you do this to me?_

"Put her onto the table."

The guards tossed her haphazardly onto the wooden rack. Reddish brown stains marred the dark wood and left little to the imagination. Sharp splinters dug into her back, burrowing into her skin like tiny needles. Leliana felt a tide of rising panic as her wrists and feet were bound to the corners of the rack by thick, gnarled ropes.

"Remove her clothes."

_No._

She could not – would not let them take her garments. She was no innocent – Leliana knew what would happen once they had divested her of her armor. She knew of the sinister rumors that surrounded reputation of the Orlesian Chevaliers. As Empress Celene's personal security force, they were granted certain liberties and often acted in whatever manner they chose to enforce the laws of Orlais.

Leliana had known a woman – a maid – who had worked in the Empress' royal palace. She was an honest woman, a widow with three young children. She had been accused of stealing fifty silvers off a dresser in one of the guest rooms. They had never found the silver – Leliana had learned later she'd refused the advances of a foreign dignitary – and the retribution had been swift and brutal. Her trial had lasted no more than a candlemark before the magistrate found her guilty, sentencing her to fifty lashes in the public square.

The punishment had been meted out by one of Celene's famed Chevaliers. By the time the guard had finished whipping the young woman, she was naught but blood and bones.

Her body was left to rot on the post, an example to all who dared consider slighting the crown.

The event had left an indelible impression on Leliana, and so she struggled as the guards pawed roughly at her leather jerkin. One delivered a devastating backhand to her right cheek, sending her reeling and leaving a dull ringing in her ears. Her lip immediately began to swell, splitting open again in the exact same spot where Marjolaine had struck her earlier.

_Marjolaine._

Several more slaps rained down. Dizzy and weak from the blood loss, disoriented and confused, Leliana looked about frantically as she tried to make out the blurry shapes with eyes that were swollen half shut from the beating.

"Marjolai..." A crude cloth was shoved into her mouth, silencing further protest. It tasted of dried blood and sweat, causing her to wretch in disgust. She was unable to spit it out before a second strap was used to secure it into place. Two sets of hands pulled at the ropes that bound her limbs, drawing a muffled scream from the bard at the agony in her side. A third soldier used his knife to cut up the sides of her leathers, splitting them neatly into two pieces that were parted easily from flesh.

Leliana closed her eyes in shame as the chill air swept over her bare skin. She whimpered as a set of fingers pushed cruelly into the side wound, feeling for the extent of injuries.

"Near miss, Ser. A few bits to the left and she'd already be dead."

"Seal the wound."

Leliana's eyes opened wide in terror as one of the guards brought a glowing poker towards her injured side.

"Mmmph." Leliana tried to scream her protest through her gag, twisting and turning on the table, too weak to break free from her bindings. The guard holding the poker smiled at her through a mouthful of half-rotted teeth just before thrusting forward.

Her world exploded into pain, her screams of agony fallen silent against the dirty gag in her mouth.

Eventually, she felt nothing.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Her body was hot with fever when she awoke.

One eye squinted open, slamming shut immediately at the bright light of the moon that trickled through the bars of her cell. Her side was throbbing in agony, and hesitantly, Leliana reached down to the knife wound, grimacing as her fingers found charred flesh.

Though the pain from the poker had been agonizing, it had also served a useful purpose. By cauterizing the wound, the Chevaliers had saved her life.

The real question was why.

The bard rolled onto her hands and knees, her stomach roiling in turmoil at the sudden change in position. She bit back the bile for several long moments before her body finally overwhelmed her weakened defenses. Whatever food had been in her stomach was forcefully expelled onto the cold, damp floor.

Leliana heaved until she could not, finally rolling onto her side into a fetal ball. They had taken her clothes, and the night air, though warm, could not quite defeat the chill that permeated her prison cell. The sobs came then, unbidden.

_Marjolaine, how could you do this to me?_

She was not aware of how long she laid there. She cried until there were no tears left. She stared blindly into space for hours, until her cheeks had long dried and the cell door finally opened with an ominous creak.

A flood of blinding light burst into the cell, and Leliana weakly raised a hand to shield her eyes. The light quickly dissipated, however, as a tall, imposing figure paused in the entrance of the doorway.

"Bring her."

A pair of rough hands grabbed at her arms, half carrying, half dragging the bard. Her legs trailed helplessly behind her, trying in vain to find purchase and failing miserably. The cold had long settled in, numbing the poor appendages. As they approached a small hallway, Leliana somehow found the strength to raise her head, her heart skipping at the sight of the familiar armor leading them.

She had seen this Chevalier before. Back at Marjolaine's house. Her lover had spoken quietly with this man for a short period during her arrest, handing him some rolled parchments.

They did not once look back as they wound their way through the narrow corridors of the dungeon. She was taken into one of the interior rooms and thrown roughly into a chair. Each movement was agony on her abused body.

"Her hands." The Chevalier barked, and her wrists were bound with a pair of thick leather straps that were attached to the chair.

Leliana looked up now, her lighter gaze meeting the impassive expression of the Orlesian Chevalier. The captain's eyes were dark, his irises the color of ironbark, his features sharp, and his hair was a muddy brown that was cropped closely to his scalp. A long, jagged scar ran from his hairline down to the middle of his cheek, the only interruption around his eye, which was now studying her with a calculating expression.

"Do you know why you are here, Leliana?"

The gravity in his tone sent shivers through the young woman's body, her mind beginning to race with the possibilities. Her work as a bard? Leliana began to mentally tick through the list of Orlesian nobles whose households she could have offended. She had always, always been careful not to take a contract on anyone too highly positioned, and certainly never against the Empress. _Surely not the Chantry..._

One of the guards backhanded her, his knuckles catching her above her right temple. Her eyes filled with tears at the blow, her eye beginning to swell from the impact. The guard lifted his hand again, and instinctively, Leliana ducked her head, whimpering at the thought of another strike.

"I will ask you one more time, Leliana. Do you know why you are here?"

Leliana shook her head furiously, crying out sharply as the guard hit her again.

"I want to hear you speak." The Chevalier made his way around the table until he stood directly in front of her, lowering his face until he was nearly nose-to-nose with the redhead. "You are a bard, no?"

"Y...yes," Leliana cringed, waiting for a blow that never came.

The Chevalier smiled, revealing a long row of perfect white teeth. "Then I would like to hear you talk. Tell me, Leliana, of what you know about a man named Rochefort."

_Maker..._ Leliana closed her eyes, words flowing quickly from her willing lips. He was a target, an old enemy of Marjolaine's who had once stolen a considerable sum from her coffers. This was, of course, long before she had met Leliana. He had left Orlais long ago for Antiva, and had only returned recently, having made his fortune in coastal trade. He was carrying documents, important business documents. That was what Marjolaine had said. Leliana was to retrieve the documents from the target and bring them to the bardmaster.

"So I see," the Chevalier rubbed his chin, his tone revealing nothing of his underlying thoughts. "What happened next?"

Leliana explained how she had learned his movements, tracking him as he moved back and forth between the noble houses of Orlais. He was a man of obviously some importance, though, that in and of itself was not unusual. It was often said nobility outnumbered the peasants in Orlais, and it was impossible to take five steps in the marketplace without offending some minor lord or lady. All she had cared about was the injury he had inflicted upon Marjolaine. Leliana grimaced as she recalled the tears the bardmaster had drummed up as she told a story about this man, a lover who had betrayed her, stolen from her, then left her for dead.

Leliana would have gladly done the contract without Marjolaine's pitiable story, and had waited until she could catch him unaware in an alleyway early one morning. She had posed as a beggar, cloaking herself in drab sackcloth and carrying a rusty can. When he passed her, as so many nobles were prone to do, she had lashed out, tripping the man and setting upon him before he could cry for help. It had only been a fortnight prior, and she could still remember the way death dimmed his eyes as he bled from the open neck wound.

"And did he have documents?"

Leliana nodded. They hadn't been the documents she'd been expecting, however. She'd expected some trade manifests or a list of business partners. Useful information for bribes. But these documents were important – they bore Orlesian seals.

And not just any seals. These were the seals of the High Court. The seals of the Empress.

"So I see," the Chevalier sat against the edge of a table opposing of the bard, his fingertips curling around the narrow lip. "And these documents... did you see what was in them?"

Leliana hung her head in shame. Of course she had – how could she not? These documents bore the seal of the Empress. She had been horrified when she realized what they were. There was no way Marjolaine could have known this. No bard would involve himself in a game against the Empress. To do so would be treason.

She had been so scared for Marjolaine – she had to read them. She needed to know what Marjolaine was up to. She had to save her.

"Ah yes." The Chevalier hopped down from the table, nodding to one of the two guards behind Leliana. A scroll was slapped into his open palm, which he unrolled with great fanfare. "Tell me, Leliana, is this the document you saw?"

Leliana's eyes widened as she skimmed the neat script. The documents were one in the same. Carefully detailed handwriting depicted Orlesian troop movements near the Ferelden border, complete with diagrams and tactical holdings.

The bard's heart sank.

"Y-yes," Leliana stammered, her blue eyes filling with fear and terror at the Chevalier's icy gaze. She should have reported the findings, true. But she had been so scared for Marjolaine – she had not breathed a word about the scroll's contents to another soul.

"He was carrying those papers. I… I thought they were destroyed," Leliana stammered, remembering how the flames had licked at the scroll's contents. Marjolaine had thrown them into the fire after their argument. She had watched them burn – how could they make an appearance now?

Logically, she knew that there had to have been a second copy of those documents, and that somehow Marjolaine had obtained them. "How did you find these?"

"Your mistress informed us about these documents shortly after she discovered them in your possession. She brought them to us immediately, along with this." The Chevalier held out a second sheet, a thin piece of vellum written in flowery script.

_Make sure these get to our contact in Ferelden. We must not waste any time. Do not get caught, or I shall be forced to deny knowing you._

_My handwriting._ Leliana's heart sank. When she was younger, Marjolaine had forced her to work for hours on her penmanship, making her write and then rewrite her letters until they were exactly like she wanted them.

_You do not want nobles thinking you are a peasant, do you? You must learn to write like a lady, Leliana. Then they will think you are one of them._

A sharp pain erupted in her chest, and Leliana's head dropped. She could almost feel her heart shattering into a thousand angry shards. Marjolaine, _her_ Marjolaine, had betrayed her. She'd set it up to make it appear that Leliana was the traitor.

Desperation swept over the bard, who looked at the Chevalier with a pleading expression. She was as good as dead unless she could convince him to believe her over Marjolaine. "Captain, you must believe me. Marjolaine wrote that letter. She was trying to get those plans to Ferelden. She..."

The Chevalier lashed out, the back of his knuckles catching the bard across her other cheek. Leliana cried out as the only unmarked flesh on her face began to swell. He hit her a few more times until she begged him to stop.

"It is your handwriting, _bard_," the Chevalier whispered into her ear, his voice filled with malice. "Your master brought us other copies of your penmanship. It is a perfect match. We already have enough evidence to hang you."

Leliana's sobs grew louder.

The Chevalier rose abruptly, waving his hand. The other two guards unbuckled the wrist straps, lifting her by the arms.

"Take her to processing. Her Majesty wishes to make an example of her." The Chevalier paused, abruptly crossing the few feet between himself and the bard. "I look forward to extracting your confession. I do hope I am able to have some fun." The Chevalier leered at her. "The last bard I had talked far too easily... fortunately for me, I had his tongue cut out as an example."

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Leliana lay in the corner of her cell, sobbing quietly. She ran a hand across her scalp, her tears coming more quickly as she felt the naked skin.

_My hair... My beautiful hair... Why did they have to…?_

The bard curled into herself, shivering. The air in her cell was cold, and they had not returned her clothes. There was a brass chamber pot in the corner that stank with a foul odor. A small tin was in the other corner, filled with a miniscule amount of water that had condensed on the ceiling and dripped into it. Leliana crawled over to the tin, ignoring the protests of her abused muscles, and lapped up the water carefully. The liquid smelled musty and it tasted foul, but she pinched her nose and forced herself to finish it.

A small, barred window led from the top of her cell to the streets, and the bard crawled over to the stone, slowly pulling herself up to her feet as she leaned against the rough wall. A wave of nausea passed over her, and Leliana bit back the sour taste until it was through.

Once her head had quit spinning, Leliana jumped upward, grabbing ahold of the bars as she pulled herself up to the window's ledge.

The window was at street level, the thick iron bars set solidly into the stone. Leliana felt around the borders, searching for any signs of weakness. But it was built too solidly.

There would be no escape.

A wooden platform caught her attention, and Leliana jerked her head sharply. A little too quickly, for she lost her balance with a startled gasp and fell to the floor of the cell.

The gallows.

Leliana clawed at her neck, her breaths coming in short, rapid bursts, imagining the feel of the hangman's noose. She continued to hyperventilate, her head growing faint as the panic filled her. She could almost feel the rope around her neck, choking her, suffocating.

Finally, she slipped into unconsciousness.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

_Marjolaine's hand whipped through the air, her palm impacting Leliana's cheek so hard that she fell to the ground._

_"How dare you?" Marjolaine's angry eyes were filled with rage, and instinctively Leliana curled into a ball, her hands shielding her face from her lover's wrath._

_"I... I am sorry!" Leliana cried out between sobs. "I... I was just worried about you. The seals..."_

_"Were none of your concern, Leliana." Marjolaine dropped to a knee, leaning in closely to Leliana's ear. "You work for me, Leliana. You do not ask questions. You do as you are told."_

_"I... I know, Marjolaine," Leliana braved the opportunity to peek out from behind her fingers. Marjolaine was mad – that was true. But surely she would see that Leliana had only acted out of concern. This would pass, and Marjolaine would apologize to her. Things would return to normal._

_The bardmaster was pacing back and forth, the scrolls hanging loosely from her fingertips. Angry eyes flashed over to her young protégé, glancing back down to the papers and then to the fireplace. With an angry hiss Marjolaine threw the documents into the flames, her lips pursing as the evidence began to smolder and curl._

_"Marjolaine, please." Leliana gazed up at her mentor, eyes pleading. "I am just trying to protect you. What you're doing... it's treason. Someone could have found out."_

_Marjolaine raised her hand once more, and Leliana cowered, shielding her face with her hands. But the expected blow did not come. Instead, Marjolaine leaned forward, pressing her lips gently against Leliana's palm._

_"Forgive me, Leliana." The young woman looked up, shocked. She had learned over the years how to weather Marjolaine's fits, and though Marjolaine often showed remorse for her angry outbursts, her anger rarely wore off so quickly. And never before had she offered a verbal apology._

_Cautiously, Leliana lowered her hands, carefully gauging Marjolaine's demeanor. The older bard's hand fell, her shoulders slumped forward. Marjolaine turned, pacing slowly towards the windowsill, her fingers drumming on the wooden frame. Leliana's heart filled with apprehension at the bardmaster's unusual demeanor, but she didn't dare speak, lest she say something wrong and provoke Marjolaine's ire._

_"Leliana, why didn't you trust me?" Marjolaine's eyes were bright, filled with unshed tears. "After all that we have been through together, you chose to betray my trust in this?"_

_Leliana's head lowered in shame. She's right. She has shown me such kindness throughout the years. She has given me her trust and her love... and this is how I repay her._

_"I am so sorry, Marjolaine," Leliana looked up at the older woman, eyes begging for forgiveness. She had never been able to withstand Marjolaine's tears. "Please, give me another chance. I promise I will never doubt you again."_

_Marjolaine's expression softened, and she made her way across the room, leaning down, pressing her lips against Leliana's forehead. "I believe you, my sweet. Now let me help clean you up. A night of pampering will do you a world of good, no?"_

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

The door to the cell opened, but Leliana did not look up. An image of Marjolaine's face was engraved on her mind. How could she have been so foolish? She should have seen through Marjolaine's act.

_It's a game, Leliana. And we are all players._

That's all it was to Marjolaine. A game. And she had lost.

"On your feet, traitor." The Orlesian guard walked towards her, his eyes flashing darkly, lips parting in a snarl.

Leliana pushed unsteadily to her feet, her hands crossed across her breasts, trying to shield what precious little modesty she had. The guard scowled, tossing a dingy linen shift towards the bard. It reeked of blood and of months-old sweat, but she put it on without hesitation, relieved for even the scantest bit of concealment.

The guard clamped a heavy pair of irons on her arms and legs, force-marching her down the hall. Screams and wails echoed down the hallway as Leliana walked, her eyes downcast. As she passed the occupied cells, the other inmates yelled and spat at her, screaming epithets and slurs at the bard.

"Ferelden whore!"

"Hang the traitor!"

Leliana's eyes blurred, her head lowering in shame. Was this how she was destined to spend the rest of her life? Hated and reviled as a traitor to her country?

_Marjolaine, how could you do this to me?_

She was steered into the room from before, only this time she was aware enough to evaluate her surroundings. It was a small, windowless room with a round wooden table and a pair of chairs that occupied most of the center. This was familiar territory. Unfamiliar, however, was a tall wooden post was in one corner, a pair of blood encrusted shackles attached to the beam. The other corner of the room was a small iron stove, a pair of ominous looking tools on one side.

Leliana gasped at the sight, her pulse hammering wildly. She felt lightheaded, dizzy, stumbling over her own feet until a set of hands grabbed her shoulders, shoving her roughly into one of the two chairs. Leliana stared numbly at the surface of the wooden table, the grain of the wood drifting in and out of focus.

Was she to be tortured? Were the guards going to punish her for a crime she did not commit? Leliana swallowed, willing herself to calm down. Perhaps the guards brought her in here to intimidate her. Perhaps they wanted to frighten her into making a confession.

Leliana's senses alerted her to the presence standing behind her, and after a brief moment, a long piece of parchment slid across the table.

"This is your confession, bard." The same Chevalier from before placed a quill and a small bottle of ink in front of her. "Sign it, and you return to your cell."

Leliana stared at the parchment, her pulse racing wildly.

_Sign it..._

It would be so easy to do ... Maybe she would be left alone. Maybe there would be no more beatings.

_Sign it..._

Maybe she'd be given food and water, and maybe a thin blanket to sleep upon, while she awaited her execution.

_Sign it..._

Her execution. Leliana tried to imagine herself standing on the gallows, her eyes wide with fear as the trapdoor was checked and reset. The Chantry priestess would read her final rights. She would be nudged forward, until she was positioned just so.

_Sign it..._

The rope would be placed around her neck. Hanging was a relatively quick death. She had faced far worse possibilities as a bard. Some of the Orlesian nobles were notoriously brutal in their treatment of spies.

_Sign it..._

Would Marjolaine come to her execution? Would she even care? Or had she taken steps even now to disentangle their own complicated relationship?

_Sign it..._

No. Marjolaine didn't care. Maybe she never did.

_Sign it..._

She would go on with her old life, perhaps with a new apprentice, a new victim...

_Sign it..._

And someday, perhaps, that victim would end up here.

_I can't do this. I won't. If I sign that confession, Marjolaine will have won. And she is the reason I am here. I loved her. I trusted her. And she betrayed me. I cannot let her win._

Leliana looked once more at the parchment. It would be so easy to confess. She would die regardless. The Chevaliers would not free her, even if her innocence were proven. If she signed, she would be choosing the quick death, the easy death. But either way, she would still be executed.

The bard picked up the parchment in her hands, staring at the words. Even if she wasn't guilty of treason, she had killed many men and women on Marjolaine's orders. How many of those individuals had been innocent? How many married men had she seduced, slitting their throat in the heat of passion? How many children had she orphaned? How many noblewomen had she ensnared in her web of lies, only to rob them blind when they least expected it?

_Is this to be my penance? Is this the Maker's punishment for the sins I've committed?_ Leliana dropped the parchment onto the scarred surface of the table.

"I am innocent of these charges," Leliana's eyes met the Chevalier's, speaking with a confidence she did not really feel. "I cannot sign this."

The Chevalier smiled. "So be it."

Leliana would never forget the delight on the Chevalier's face as he nodded to the guard, who jerked her roughly, dragging her to the tall post in the corner. Her hands remained unshackled, though only for a moment, before they were fitted into the cruel restraints on the post.

The restraints were meant for a much taller person, and Leliana was forced to stand on her tiptoes to keep the metal from cutting into her wrists. She screwed her eyes tightly shut as the meager covering she had been given was ripped in half, exposing her naked back.

_Maker, please help me._

A loud snapping sound cracked against the ground, and Leliana could not shutter her curiosity, sneaking a quick peek over one shoulder. The Chevalier had unfurled a long, braided whip, his eyes filled with a sadistic pleasure as he cracked it a few more times against the stone, clearly trying to intimidate her.

She wanted to throw up.

No sooner did she turn away, screwing her eyes shut against the impending pain when the first lash fell. Her entire back went numb for a long, terrifying second, before an agonizing spark shot clear from her toes to her head.

Leliana screamed. She couldn't help it, really. She lost track of how many strokes fell, slipping gratefully into unconsciousness when her body could not handle any more.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

_"I can bring your body more pleasure than you've ever known. But pleasure mixed with pain is always the sweetest, no?"_

Her back was on fire.

Leliana lay face-first upon the cold stone, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She had never known pain like this before – not any of the times Marjolaine had struck her. Not during the long years of her instruction in the bardic arts. There was nothing in her past that could have prepared her for this.

She lay there for a small eternity, motionless, hoping that by remaining still the fire in her back would eventually calm. But the pain only grew worse.

Leliana finally forced herself to move, each movement agony, collapsing next to the rusty tin that had held a bit of water earlier.

It was empty.

Sobbing softly, Leliana collapsed once more, praying with all her heart that the Maker would allow her to die.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

_"You are so beautiful, my pretty thing."_

_Marjolaine's fingertips trailed down the silky smooth skin of her back, tracing a fine line from her neck to the base of her spine, drawing out a long, languid moan from the bard._

_Leliana stretched her arms out, arching her back in a feline way, her need throbbing painfully as Marjolaine's fingertips followed the path down the curve of her bottom. Long, experienced fingers dipped into the moisture there, and Leliana moaned as Marjolaine entered her, knowing exactly how and when to touch to bring her to the heights of passion._

_Leliana found herself brought quickly up to the heights of ecstasy, hovering there for a long moment before her body exploded into orgasm. Somewhere in the corner of her mind, she remembered Marjolaine's nails raking down her back, deep enough to nearly draw blood._

_The fire was so sweet._

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Hunger is a peculiar thing.

It starts out small, a tiny discomfort in the middle of one's belly. In time, the sensation grows stronger, finally consuming one in its iron grip. The affliction grows, becoming more and more profound, until your entire world is agony and you would eat the very dirt if only to satisfy the growing pain.

Leliana could not remember the last time she had eaten. The sun rose and fell outside. Sometimes it rained, and she would somehow manage to capture a bit of that precious water in her tin. It would satisfy the agonizing thirst of her parched throat, soothing the desert that had formed in her mouth. She did not know how much time had passed since the Chevaliers first brought her here – time had no meaning here. Her life had dissolved into bursts of tremendous pain or blessed unconsciousness.

She didn't know how many sessions she had endured with the Chevaliers – it seemed too many to count. Always they would let her body mend to near health before another round would begin again. The repeated cycle of torture and healing had left her with tough, fibrous scars on her back that severely limited her mobility and strength. She could no longer reach easily above her head, the strain on her skin nearly too much for her bear.

The irons were the worst, and made her almost welcome the sting of the lash against her back. Her shoulder was still numb where the guards had branded the word **TRAITOR** into the flesh of her shoulder. No amount of healing would ever erase that particular scar.

Today they escorted her down the hall, and Leliana moved without conscious thought. She was taken to the familiar room, seated in the same chair. They told her to sign the confession and it would be all over. They would give her food and water. They would even speed up her execution. Her suffering would be over.

She never signed. It was never over.

Today they used the brands on her, dragging the molten tips over the creamy skin of her inner thighs. Her screams echoed down the long row of cells leading to the chamber, an eerie silence falling across the normally noisy population of fearful prisoners. Leliana was unconscious when they threw her in the cell.

And the cycle began anew.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

When she awoke her entire body was covered in sweat, though she felt like she was freezing. Leliana stared at the ceiling of her cell for a moment, her eyes unable to focus. She had to be near death now. She could no longer feel her limbs. Her hunger pains had long subsided. Her mind felt strangely lucid, as if she was no longer in her own body. She had moved beyond it all – the pain, the suffering.

It was a noise in the corner of her cell that first drew her attention, and Leliana's eyes darted over to the source.

She was no longer alone.

A Chantry priestess with short, dirty blonde hair knelt by her side. The priestess' robes were dingy and torn, the colors long since faded. Her features were sharp, hawkish, and her dark brown eyes made Leliana's heart skip with fear.

The priestess lifted a small wooden bowl to Leliana's lips.

"Open." The sister's voice was soothing. Somehow Leliana found the strength to comply with the strange request, and was rewarded with a warm, rich broth that she nearly choked on as it went down. Little by little, the priestess fed her the broth, until it was all gone and Leliana found her belly filled with a warm, pleasant sensation.

She wanted to ask the priestess what her name was, but sleep overtook her before she could speak.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

_"Again."_

_Leliana lunged forward, feinting to the right, dropping into a low crouch and sweeping backwards with her leg, catching the target with her heel. Marjolaine fell, rolling easily into a backward somersault before rising onto one knee. Her eyes were filled with more than a little surprise and anger, and Leliana immediately shirked back, afraid._

_The attack came so quickly she scarcely had time to defend herself from it, Marjolaine leaping forward with a flurry of well-placed strikes, driving her protégé back until she was pinned against the wall._

_Leliana tapped her hand against the surface in surrender, and Marjolaine's angry expression gave way to an amused smirk. The dark-haired bard leaned forward, kissing her forcefully, her teeth nipping and biting at Leliana's lip until she drew blood._

_Leliana moaned as Marjolaine cupped a hand against her suggestively. Her head arched back as Marjolaine's teeth scraped against her throat, her lips latching onto her and sucking hard enough to leave a mark._

_The next thing she knew, she was on her back, the tip of Marjolaine's dagger aimed at her jugular._

_"Never lower your guard, Leliana." Marjolaine's eyes were slitted, dangerous. "Once you show weakness to your enemy, you are dead."_

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

When she awoke, she was alone.

Leliana's first thought was that she had imagined the whole thing. It was normal to hallucinate when one was near death, right? The bard managed to push herself onto her elbows, seeing for the first time the bandages that expertly bound her ribs and her thighs.

It was not a dream.

Leliana looked around, expecting at any moment for a stranger to emerge from the shadows. But there was no movement. She was alone.

So who had tended to her wounds?

Leliana rolled over onto her palms, grunting in pain at the strain the simple act put on her skin. Slowly, she rose to her knees, glancing around the cell.

A rat was in the corner of the cell, its twitching brown nose poking deep into a wooden bowl.

Leliana slowly crawled over to where the rat was, surprising the small creature, which tittered nervously before scampering off. The bard looked at the half eaten crust of bread and scrap of cheese as if it were pure gold, scooping up the precious morsels and shoving both into her mouth without hesitation.

Maker, it hurt to chew. The bread was stale and the cheese moldy, but never had food looked so good to Leliana's eyes. She chewed and chewed the food, moistening the bits until they could be swallowed without too much pain. The bread settled in her stomach like a brick, but for the first time since she had been captured, Leliana felt a small glimmer of hope.

Footfalls came down the hall, and Leliana's eyes darted nervously to the door of her cell. The bard's heart began to thud painfully as the lock to her cell began to turn, an ominous creaking sound cutting through the silence like a knife.

A small, diminutive woman slipped into the cell, her eyes darting around nervously as she stepped inside. Leliana could tell by her attire she was not a guard, in fact her robes spoke of a more religious background. It was the priestess from before. The woman's bright brown eyes widened in surprise as she met Leliana's own startled expression.

"You are awake..."

"You're the woman from before."

The figure rushed forward, clamping a hand over the bard's mouth as her eyes darted wildly about with fear.

"Shhh! You must be quiet! They will hear you." The woman whispered in low, hushed tones. Her eyes lifted, meeting Leliana's with a fearful look. "I came to get the wrappings. You must hurry. The guards are planning to visit your cell soon. If they see you like this they will punish me."

The blood drained from Leliana's face. "Please, you must help me... I can't survive like this."

The sister's eyes filled with compassion. "I am sorry," she said, reaching up and cupping the bard's cheek. Leliana leaned into the touch, having nearly forgotten the feel of a caring hand. The Chantry sister's eyes filled with tears. "Please," she pleaded. "They will hurt me."

Leliana stared into the woman's eyes for a long moment, and then nodded, pulling off the bandages, her fingers fumbling with the ties. The fibers of the cloths were coarse, and had partially healed into the wounds, causing the injuries to bleed freely as newly formed scar tissue and dried blood was pulled away from skin.

The bard held out the bandages to the priestess, who took them carefully, her eyes filling with gratitude. The sister reached up once more, caressing the young bard's cheek.

"I will return as soon as I am able," she promised, and then hurried away.

"Wait..." Leliana called out, rushing to the door as it slammed shut. "Who are you?" Footsteps faded down the hallway. "What is your name?"

Silence was her only answer.


	3. Edge of Hope, Part II

**Title: **Edge of Hope

**Rating: **M

**Disclaimers: **I do not own anything from Dragon Age. Dragon Age and its characters belong to Bioware.

**Author's Notes: **This story actually came about because of a meme prompt, however it has been rather long its path to print. It is about Leliana's time with the Chevaliers and her subsequent escape, and as such, covers some very dark subject matter (Trigger alert). However, it is not explicit, and I have worked very hard to keep it that way for the purposes of this site. I was much more interested in exploring what was going on in the bard's mind.

There are some scenes between Leliana and Marjolaine here, some of which includes violence directed at our fair bard. I've tried to keep everything within the context of the story.

* * *

><p><strong>Part II<strong>

"You are feeling well."

The bard remained mute, her eyes focused on the far wall of the interrogation chamber. The Chevalier – Gerard was his name, as she had learned from the conversations between the prison guards – was circling her slowly, like a predator.

For her part, Leliana kept her focus on the far wall. It would do her no good to argue the point. She was feeling better, but she would be damned if she gave up her protector.

Gerard nodded to the two guards, each of whom snapped to attention. Normally, that thought would fill Leliana with dread, because it meant that the torture was to soon begin. The captain continued to circle her, finally producing a key, which he held in front of the bard's face.

Leliana could not help it. Her eyes fixated on that key like a moth to the flame. If her hands hadn't been shackled to the table, she might have almost chanced reaching for it – though it would surely mean her death.

"Who is helping you, Leliana?" Gerard's lips fluttered close to her ear. "Tell me, and I will send you back to your cell. You will be given food and water, and a blanket for your cooperation."

Leliana closed her eyes, trying to ignore the gnawing pains of hunger that threatened to consume her. She could not betray the Chantry sister. She would not.

Gerard slapped her across the face several times, finishing with a devastating punch to her belly that left the bard doubled over, gasping for air.

"You will talk, Leliana." Gerard's breathe hit against her face, his eyes filled with malice. "Or I will show you pain as you have never known."

Leliana closed her eyes against the tears that had freely formed at his first blow. New bruises had already begun to form on her face, and the stitch in her side led her to believe one of her fragile ribs had once more been broken.

Gerard nodded briefly to the guards. Both of them approached, loosening the restraints on her hands and pulling cruelly at her abused arms. She was abruptly wrenched to her feet, her hands stretched across the table until she was bent over its rough edge. Leliana pressed her forehead into the wood, her eyes squeezed shut against the pain in her shoulder blades, bracing herself for the agony of the red-hot pokers against her flesh.

But the irons remained undisturbed. In fact, the bard was held in place for so long that she began to wonder if the Chevalier had left.

Then a pair of rough, calloused hands pushed her legs apart, and her world once more exploded in pain.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

_Leliana quickly unwrapped the present, pausing only briefly to admire the ornate wrappings with fascination. Inside the box lay a shimmering silken robe of the prettiest blue, embroidered with the finest gold trim she had ever seen._

_"Ooh Marjolaine," Leliana held up the robe to the candlelight, marveling at the sheer beauty of the delicate piece, her fingers trailing along the elegant design. The bard looked up at her mentor, eyes filled with unshed tears. "It's so beautiful, Marjolaine. How did you ever find such an exquisite piece?"_

_"A lady must always have pretty things," Marjolaine said quietly, her hand rubbing the bard's back in small circles. Marjolaine pushed the garment towards the bard. "Go ahead, my dear, try it on."_

_Leliana's lips curled into a smile as she hopped to her feet, readying herself to slip the robe on over the dress she had worn to dinner._

_"No no no, that will not do," Marjolaine tittered as her hands closed over Leliana's, halting the younger woman in her tracks. "This is the finest silk ever to come from Antiva. You must not wear it so casually."_

_Leliana's cheeks colored deeply, picking up easily on the insinuation. Looking shyly at the older woman, the bard slowly handed the robe to Marjolaine, who accepted it with a smirk, and began to undo the long row of buttons that comprised her bodice. She felt foolish, clumsy almost, her fingers fumbling against the intricate fastenings, but finally, the bodice was parted. _

_Her cheeks flushed at the other woman's pointed stare as the fabric slipped over her shoulders, falling to a point just above her breasts before she held the dress in place, preserving at least some modesty. With a wry smirk, Marjolaine lifted a hand, twirling her fingers. Leliana bit her lower lip in anticipation as she turned, her inexperienced mind racing. Marjolaine slipped up behind her as she released her hold on the dress, allowing the fabric to fall in a puddle at her feet._

_Leliana inhaled sharply as Marjolaine rested the cool fabric against her shoulders, her heart pounding wildly as the older woman's arms slipped around her middle, fingertips playing tantalizingly against the baby soft skin of her stomach. It had been Marjolaine who had first taught her about the exotic oils one could apply to leave their skin supple and soft, unblemished by the rigors of time. Now, Leliana inhaled sharply as Marjolaine's lips pressed against her neck, breathing in the younger woman's scent._

_"Now aren't you the pretty thing," Marjolaine whispered, pressing her lips to the bard's pulse, savoring the way Leliana's eyes fluttered shut, an involuntarily moan escaping the redhead's throat._

_"My pretty flower." Marjolaine's hand trailed upwards, brushing against the curve of a creamy breast through the satiny fabric. Leliana gasped, her back involuntarily arching into the soft stroking motions of Marjolaine's fingertips, which were driving all conscious thought from her mind._

"_Please," Leliana moaned, though she was unsure of what she was asking. The teasing fingertips were driving her nearly mad from desire and she thought she might die if they stopped._

_Marjolaine spun her around, her lips capturing hers in a passionate kiss, her tongue forcefully entering Leliana's mouth, exploring every inch of her warmth. The redhead gasped as the older woman's hand cupped her underneath the thin robe. The bard's knees grew weak as Marjolaine explored the seat of her desire, trailing a fingertip up and down the sensitive skin until Leliana was positively begging for more._

_The bardmaster's eyes took on a wicked glint at Leliana's pleas, deftly maneuvering the younger woman flat onto the bed, pinning her arms high above her head and stilling her ministrations until Leliana was forced to open her eyes at the lack of sensation._

_"Tonight, my pretty thing, we will complete your training. I believe I have neglected to teach you the most important lesson." At Leliana's inquisitive expression, Marjolaine threw back her head and laughed. Leliana's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, looking away from the amused smirk. She had harbored a crush on the bardmaster for years. Why would Marjolaine toy with her emotions like this?_

_"Pay close attention, my dear," Marjolaine's voice was low as she cupped a hand against the bard. "You will be tested on the subject matter thoroughly."_

_Before the bard could ponder the meaning of those words, her world exploded as the bardmaster's lips descended to her earlobe, nipping and suckling the sensitive skin. Leliana's eyes slammed shut and her back arched of its own accord as the fingers stroked her expertly, knowingly. Marjolaine's free hand slid up her stomach, teasing until Leliana was writhing on the bed, unable to escape the deliberate assault._

_Marjolaine's lips trailed down her neck, nipping and biting the smooth flesh. Later, Leliana would look at those marks left by those lips with shock and bewilderment, but the sensations now were overwhelming, even more so when Marjolaine's lips traced a path across her collarbone to her throat._

_Leliana cried out in pleasure as Marjolaine's eager lips latched onto one of the erect buds and began to suckle fervently. The sensation of lips wrapped tightly around that part of her anatomy was enough to send the young bard near the edge, though the edge of what, Leliana could not quite verbalize._

_So focused was she on the delightful sensations of Marjolaine's lips that the press of the bardmaster's palm against her growing need nearly took her breath away. Leliana moaned, her head arching back as Marjolaine's fingers played against her, moving closer, closer..._

_There, the shocking intrusion, as Marjolaine's fingers slipped inside. Leliana eyes slammed shut in surprise as Marjolaine's fingers curled inside her, arcing in just the right manner..._

_Her world exploded into light and color, waves of pleasure flooding through her body, surrounding her, embracing her. Skilled fingers drew out the delectable sensations, bringing her back to the crest of the wave again and again until at last, exhausted she fell to the bed, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as her heartbeat tried to return to normal._

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Leliana slowly crawled to the saucer, lapping at the small accumulation of water. Her body was throbbing with the most exquisite agony, the pain concentrated this time on the junction of her legs and...

The bard's eyes squeezed tightly shut, a choked sob escaping her lips, and then another one. They were tears that she could ill afford to shed; but yet they still fell.

She had believed that nothing could be worse than the sting of the Chevalier's whip against her back. Then they had used the irons, and she had believed that that was the worst pain she could have ever endured. They had taken everything from her. No lover would ever touch her in desire once she lay bare for all to see. No one would ever see past the scars that destroyed the beauty of her unblemished skin. And never would she be able to enjoy another's affections without thinking of Gerard's cruel hands upon her.

Even Marjolaine, as rough and as cruel as she had been at times, had never forced herself on the bard. That would not be to say that she had not been a harsh mistress at times. The bardmaster had spared no expense in the matters of introducing Leliana to all forms of pleasure, sometimes blurring the hazy line between pain and ecstasy. It had been necessary, or so she'd been led to believe, if one was to be trained in all manners of seduction.

But there had always been an invisible line – one you just did not cross. Leliana wasn't sure which hurt worse, the Chevalier's intrusion or the fact that Marjolaine had betrayed her to these animals, knowing just exactly what they were capable of.

Exhaustion finally overwhelming her body, the bard slipped into a deep, troubled sleep.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

"And so here we are."

His voice seemed so small, so very far away. The blue eyes did not waver from their position at the far wall. She did not flinch when the Chevalier's hands came to rest on either side of her naked body. She did not shudder when his lips drew close to her ear, his breath hot against her skin.

"Sign the confession, Leliana."

The bard's eyes flickered to the parchment, her breath quickening, heart thundering wildly in her chest. Such a simple thing, to sign one's name. To have one's very identity captured in a few strokes of a quill.

She reached for the parchment, weary eyes meeting the Chevalier's cruel expression.

"If I sign this, " Maker, her throat was so dry, "it ends? No more torture?" She closed her eyes, willing her body to stop the violent tremors that threatened to snap her in two. The concept of giving up, of letting them kill her, frightened her terribly. And yet, all she could think about was that she was so very tired. She opened her eyes, turning her head, her gaze locking with the Chevalier's. "You will let me die?"

He smiled, pushing away from the bard, coming around into her line of sight.

"No more torture." He pushed the ink bottle towards the bard. "Sign the confession, and it will all be over."

She stared at the parchment for the longest time. A name. In the end, it was all she had.

But Maker, she was just so very _tired..._

She closed her eyes, teetering on the edge of indecision, slowly reaching for the quill. She dipped its worn tip into the small bottle of ink, bringing it towards the confession.

Her name. Her dignity. Her honor. It was the one thing she had left in this world.

And it was the one thing they could not take.

She glanced up at Gerard, noting the feral grin. His eyes were cold, calculating, and behind those dark orbs, Leliana could see the arrogance, the confidence.

He had broken her, and in the end, that was all he cared about.

Closing her eyes, she turned and glanced back at that parchment, her eyes skimming over the words of the confession.

_Maker help me._

And then she ripped the confession in half.

All traces of triumph vanished from the Chevalier's face, his grin melting into pure, unmitigated hate. He flew across the room, snatching the torn pieces of parchment from her fingertips.

The smile never left her face as he struck her hard enough to overturn her chair, her naked body flying against the wall like a rag doll.

"You will regret the day you were born, Ferelden whore." The Chevalier turned to leave the room, pausing in the doorway and shooting one final glare at the bard.

"Give her to the men."

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

She could not feel her legs.

It was midday, judging by the sounds of laughter and the smell of roasting meats filtering in from the outside plaza. Her throat used to water at the smell, the very notion of food an exquisite torture in and of itself.

But she had moved beyond the hunger. Beyond the pain.

"You should have signed the confession, Leliana." The voice startled her, and ever-so-slowly she lifted her head, meeting the morose expression of the Chantry sister who had been so kind to her. Leliana had not realized that her head was actually resting in the sister's lap, but then again, she had not been truly cognizant of her surroundings for a long time.

"Would it have made a difference?" The whisper sounded harsh even to her own ears. The sister shook her head sadly.

"No. He would have given you to his men anyways. You will be executed on the morrow. The orders have already been signed."

"Then it is over." Leliana smiled, feeling relief for the first time in weeks. Thank the Maker it was finally over. "Thank you, for everything." And she meant it. The Chantry sister had shown her the first and only kindness she had known since Marjolaine's betrayal.

The head dropped, eyes lowering in shame. Tears streamed down the Chantry priestess' cheeks, droplets falling on the helpless bard's face. "I am so sorry Leliana. I could have – I should have done more."

Leliana reached out a trembling arm, her hand coming to rest atop the sister's. The mahogany gaze lifted, red-rimmed eyes filled with wonder and disbelief.

"It's better this way." The irony was not lost on the bard. She wondered if the sister had ever been comforted before by the condemned. "I'm not afraid to die. Not anymore."

A hand pressed over the sister's mouth, muffling the sound of another sob. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, sniffling loudly as she battled for her composure. For a long time the priestess sat there, lost in her own thoughts.

Leliana's eyes closed, slipping into the first dreamless sleep in ages.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

It was the sound of the door creaking open that finally drew the bard from the blissful reaches of unconsciousness. Leliana opened her eyes, seeing the familiar guardsmen, and looked away. So this was it.

"Got special orders for you, whore." The guards took up position on either side, lifting her under her arms and pulling her upright. The third stood in front of her, smiling smugly. "The commandant says you are to provide tonight's entertainment. One last memory to carry you to the afterlife."

And then hell broke loose.

The point of a dagger emerged from the man's chest, his eyes widening in shock at the sharp pain that erupted from his ribcage. He fell to his knees, his hands pawing at the blossoming blood stain that spread across his chest. Another pair of daggers flew through the air, embedding nearly simultaneously into the throats of the other two guards before they could sound the alarm.

She was falling.

A pair of strong, sturdy arms wrapped around her body, catching her before she hit the floor, cradling her emaciated form as one would cradle a newborn.

Leliana looked up, shocked to see that her erstwhile savior was the same Chantry priestess who had been caring for her. Only this time she wore no robes, donning instead a lightweight set of leather armor, her thick, dark hair was drawn back out of her face and secured with a leather tie. A pair of daggers was strapped to the outside of her boots, another pair secured against her back.

She was covered nearly head to toe in blood.

"We must go quickly." She grunted, staggering briefly under the weight of the bard. Though Leliana had lost nearly all of her meager reserves, the weight was still far more than what the priestess was accustomed to lifting.

"But…" Leliana struggled to piece together her erratic thoughts. It took a second to realize the blood did not belong to her rescuer. "You killed them." A statement of fact, not a question. "Before they could even call for help." Where does a sister learn to fight like that?

Her rescuer smiled grimly. "I was not always a lay sister of the Chantry, Leliana." She jerked her head towards the bard's frail arms. "Let us say that I lived a rather colorful life. Much like your own, I suspect."

A bard. Surprised, Leliana found herself unable to speak, mutely wrapping her arms around the sister's neck as they began to move quickly towards the exit.

"Marjolaine was my partner."

Leliana's breath caught in her throat, the room spinning wildly. The mere mention of Marjolaine's name began to evoke feelings of deep panic. Everything began to fade out of focus, bright spots flashing before her eyes. For a moment she thought she might faint.

"Marjolaine had no other apprentices." It couldn't be true. She was the first. The only one.

"Of course she did." The other woman snorted in distaste, her step never faltering as she rounded the corner. A trail of corpses littered the hallway, all guards, lying dead in various states of repose. Leliana could scarcely believe that one person could have killed so many men without raising every alarm within the prison. The brown eyes met Leliana's briefly. "You were not her first pupil, nor the first one she betrayed. My story is not unlike your own, I suspect."

"But when…?" Leliana winced as the sister began to ascend one flight of stairs. The act of climbing jostled long-abused muscles. Coupled with the sister's revelation – this was all too much to believe. "I have known Marjolaine for years." The half-hearted protest fell from her chapped lips.

"As did I. We worked together for nearly a decade. We trained together under the same bardmaster. And for much of that time we were lovers."

Leliana could only stare at the other woman in shock. The tale seemed too outlandish to believe. Had her whole life with Marjolaine been nothing but a lie?

"Marjolaine and I were on an assignment together. Our target was the Count de Moreau," the sister's face was grim. "We had insinuated ourselves into his household, posing as handmaidens for his wife. He was a very wealthy man, and had made himself a lot of enemies."

Her head shook in grim remembrance. "We were young then, in love, and invincible. Or so we liked to believe. The job was supposed to be a simple assassination, but Marjolaine had other ideas. She wanted his wealth for her own."

Leliana swallowed thickly, almost afraid to ask what happened next.

"She had been carrying on the affair for some months before I found out, and I was furious. I felt betrayed, used. Not only had she been playing the mistress like some common whore, but she had broken our cover. She had told him I was a bard sent to kill both him and his wife." The sister's voice cracked at the painful memories of a long buried past.

She continued, "The night after our argument, I had returned to my quarters to find the Countess' body in my chambers. It was Marjolaine's doing – she had arranged for me to discover the body just moments before the guards apprehended me. I barely escaped the estate with my life. I fled to the Free Marches. I lost everything. I had to change my name, assume a completely different identity. For years I ran, never settling long in one place. Eventually, I joined the Chantry. It was the one place I knew Marjolaine would never look."

"Why did you come back?"

The corners of her lips quirked slightly. "The Maker indeed has a sense of humor. I was offered an assignment in Orlais at a small chapel in this fortress. My position allows me some liberties with the guards. I am not permitted to offer aid to the prisoners, only to hear their final confessions." A pause, then a grim smile. "And I have never violated my oaths. Until I found you."

Leliana felt sick. "But you're putting yourself at terrible risk. Gerard knows someone has been helping me. When he catches you…"

The pace slowed, brown eyes regarding Leliana in cross between sympathy and regret. "Thus far, Gerard has been unable to confirm his suspicions. And he cannot raise a hand against a cloistered sister without proof. I was very careful to cover my tracks."

Until today. Leliana's eyelids fluttered shut. The trail of dead bodies leading to her cell was damning. At best, the sister would be accused of treason. At worst…

"Put me down." The chestnut gaze snapped to Leliana's in disbelief. "You have to leave me. There's still time for you to escape."

"After all the trouble I went through to help you?" Amusement colored the other woman's voice, her eyes softening in obvious affection. "I think not."

"Please…" Leliana pleaded, her eyes darting wildly about the corridor. In the distance, she could hear the sounds of harried footfalls racing towards their location. "My injuries are too severe." Shouts, closer now.

The sister did not respond, surging forward, jogging now with the bard in tow. Leliana peered helplessly at her surroundings. The long corridor was made of cells like hers – tall, impenetrable wooden doors with only thin slots for food dotted the hallway every few feet. Screams and cries of agony added to the cacophony of sounds, and Leliana pressed her palms against her ears, trying to block out dreadful noises. The pair rounded the corner.

Straight into a Chevalier.

Leliana gasped, the color draining from her features. The tall figure blocked the only exit, arms folded across a massively armored chest. They were too late.

"Not a Chevalier dear," Grim eyes met the faceless soldier with stark frankness. "Only hidden as one. Everything is ready?"

"You're late." The rich, baritone voice replied, easily accepting the small bundle that was the bard. "But yes, the cart leaves as soon as I give the signal. Lyrium. It will not be inspected too closely."

"Only one cart?" The soldier shook his head. The sister nodded, satisfied. The more decoys the better. Still… "Lyrium?"

"Not so much to kill her. It will not be inspected closely. It's bound for one of the smaller Chantries near the borderlands."

Silence. And then, "Sister Lafevre?" The soldier nodded. "That will do."

"Wait," Leliana shifted in the false Chevalier's hold. "How will you escape? I don't even know your name."

The sister's eyes softened in sadness, shaking her head lightly. She reached up, cupping a hand behind the bard's head. "I will lay on a false trail. By the time they realize I am alone, you will be safe."

Leliana opened her mouth to try to protest, but immediately felt a small prick behind the back of her ear. The bard's head jerked away, glancing in fear at the needle that was dripping with an unknown liquid.

"I am sorry, Leliana. But we must part ways here. Gerard will be looking for two women fitting our descriptions. We cannot remain together." A pair of soft lips pressed against the bard's forehead, bright eyes fixating on the bard.

"But… your name…"

"You can call me Marie." She brushed her fingertips over the bard's cheek, her form blurring as the medication took effect. Leliana's eyelids grew heavy, unable to fight the effects of the drug that was now flowing through her body.

"Live, Leliana. You must live."

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Lights and forms all blended together.

Hands were upon her, touching her, but not in the crude, vulgar manner of the Chevaliers. These touches were gentle, soothing, almost clinical in nature. That did not keep her from struggling, however, and Leliana felt herself being drawn into an even deeper slumber.

When she first opened her eyes, she was nearly blinded. It took several minutes before she could see without tearing up. The blue eyes glanced around in stunned silence, darting wildly across the unfamiliar surroundings. The sun shone brightly across the wooden beams, little specks of dust dancing in the rich air. Its warmth caressed her face, and she found herself unconsciously turning towards it, basking in the glow of the sweet rays of light.

Leliana found herself breathing deeply for the first time in months, stiffer for the effort but miraculously without pain. She looked around at the sparsely furnished room, taking in the simple accommodations – a bed, a chest of drawers, a vanity with a large, ovoid mirror. She shifted, her hand finding purchase on a small nightstand, and she pushed herself up, the thin sheet falling away.

The bard planted her feet on the ground, curling and uncurling her toes, trying to get used to the strange sensation of being able to feel the digits. She rose unsteadily on legs that had not borne her full weight for awhile, her hand instinctively reaching for the support of a thick cane that had been leaning against the bedside. The limbs were so spindly Leliana was certain she would fall without the added support.

But she didn't, and after a long moment of just standing, the bard hobbled to the mirror cautiously. Her thoughts alternated between hope and dread over what she might see. Had it all been a dream? Had she woken finally from this endless nightmare? Her eyes fixated on the form in the mirror, gasping at the horror of her own reflection.

Where there had been gentle curves, a soft roundness accenting a lithely feminine form, there were all hard planes now. Her ribcage was readily apparent, skin stretched so tightly across that it appeared almost skeletal. Hips jutted out in sharp angles rather than smoothly flowing curves, and her arms and legs appeared so shrunken that Leliana could scarcely believe that they supported her own weight. Her face had sunken, her cheeks pale and sallow. Her rich auburn hair had finally grown out a bit, but the once proud tresses were now stringy and brittle. She was almost afraid to touch them for fear that the strands would break off in her fingertips.

And then there were the scars.

They stood out in sharp contrast to her fair skin, crisscrossing her body in an almost intricate pattern. Her skin, her unblemished beauty, was now a patchwork of scar upon scar, from her shoulders to elbows, down to her waist, clear to her knees.

She turned, taut muscles screaming in agony at the action of turning her head over her shoulder. Her back was even worse, few patches of healthy skin could be seen under the dense, keloid scars that marred her body. And there it was on her right shoulder, a cluster of scars in a familiar pattern.

**Traitor.**

Leliana's legs gave way, and she would have hit the ground had not a strong arm wrapped around her waist, offering its sturdy support as it aided her back to the bed.

The arm belonged to an older woman, lines of wisdom etched deeply into her features, Her hair was a silvery white and when she looked at the bard, Leliana found herself staring into gentle grey eyes.

"I am Sister Lafevre." The woman helped Leliana sit on the bed. "You are safe, for the moment. But you are still very weak. You must regain your strength."

"Where am I?" Leliana's eyes were darting around wildly now, a rising crescendo of panic beginning to consume her. Gentle hands tucked in the bed sheet around the bard.

"This Chantry lies on the edge of the borderlands between Ferelden and Orlais. During the war, it served as an outpost for both Chevaliers and Templars. It has been all but forgotten now." The Sister's eyes were sad. "Now, the Grand Cleric uses this posting to banish those who she deems unfit to serve. You have been here for a fortnight."

Had it really been that long? Leliana frowned, struggling to remember. "Lyrium..." The others had sent her here. "What happened to them?"

"Yes... This is a common route for such goods to travel, though little remains here for our use. We've no Templars here. The shipment was bound for Ferelden. The driver left you here, no doubt bribed by those who had seen you to safety." She looked as if she were to say more, and then apparently thought better of it, sad eyes looking away from the bard.

She started to rise, but Leliana's hand snapped out, latching onto the Sister's wrist with an intensity that surprised even the bard. "What happened to them?" Leliana's gaze lifted upwards, meeting Lafevre's cool grey ones.

The older woman shook her head. "I do not know." Her tone was apologetic. "The driver could not tell me much. I can only assume your rescuers were apprehended."

Leliana began to rise, shifting her feet over the edge of the bed. But legs unused to the burden of weight would not work properly, and she fell into Lafevre's arms once more.

"I have to go back," the bard protested. "They will kill her."

"Do not be a fool, child." The sister's expression reproving. "She is already dead." Lafevre lifted Leliana to the bed; hands guiding the bard back to the pillows. "Do not dishonor her sacrifice by getting yourself killed."

"But..." Leliana began to protest, but was promptly silenced by the press of a forefinger against her mouth.

"You ask to be released into a den of jackals. I cannot do that." Gentle fingers slipped under Leliana's chin, forcing the bard's gaze upwards. "Honor her sacrifice by getting stronger. You are still weak yet. Rest, and regain your strength. The Maker will bring the time for vengeance in due course."

Leliana could only look away.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Days melted into weeks, and slowly, Leliana began to regain her strength. Muscles long wasted began to fill in, and the bard lost some of her wasted appearance. Some of her scars faded, mostly due to Sister Lafevre's healing touch, though the worst still remained, an ever-present reminder of the horrors she endured. Leliana compensated by wearing tunics that covered most of her neck and shoulders and full-length trews that hid most of her features from view.

Still, the loss of her vanity was hard, and when the bard looked at herself in the mirror, it was often accompanied by a deep despair. Who would ever want to be with someone as ugly as her? She was ruined, tainted inexorably by her experiences at the Chevalier's hands.

One eve she grew so disgusted at the sight that she took her cane to the mirror, shattering the expensive glass into dozens of jagged shards. Lafevre found her some time later, reduced to little more than heart-wrenching sobs. "Someday," Sister Lafevre promised, enveloping the young woman in a fierce hug, "you will meet someone who will see you for the beauty you truly are. You will find love, Leliana. I am sure of it."

Leliana closed her eyes, shaking her head bitterly. "I don't think I will ever trust anyone that much again. Not after what Marjolaine did to me."

"Do not confuse infatuation with love." Lafevre's words were harsh, unyielding. Her fiery gaze bore into Leliana's. "Marjolaine entrapped you, drew you in to her world. But you were a tool to her, nothing more."

"But she said..."

"If she had truly loved you, she wouldn't have betrayed you to the Chevaliers," the Sister's tone was clipped. "She said exactly what she needed to draw an innocent girl into her web of lies."

"I am hardly innocent," Her eyes flitted away, the accompanying shame a recent, and somewhat unexpected, development. "I enjoyed being a bard. The intrigue, the excitement," the pained gaze lifted, "even the killing. It was nothing more than a game."

"Does a dog that has been beaten know naught but violence?" Lafevre's expression gentled, wizened hand reaching up and patting her lightly on the cheek. "Do not confuse innocence with having a good heart. Very few people in this world are truly innocent, Leliana. That is why the Maker has offered us redemption."

Redemption. Was it truly possible to erase the sins of one's past?

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

The first time she picked up a blade marked perhaps the most difficult day since she'd escaped from the Chevaliers. More than a month had passed since her ordeal, and yet she was scarcely able to reach an arm to the level of her shoulders.

"It is too soon," Lafevre said that evening, rubbing a healing salve onto the bard's back. "Give it another month, at least."

"I used to be able to do that in my sleep," the blue eyes darted away, fighting the urge to fling the useless weaponry against the wall. How would she be able to survive on her own if she couldn't defend herself?

Some days, she almost wished the Chevaliers had killed her.

"You must be patient," came the measured response. "Val Royeaux was not built in a day. You are still healing. Look at how far you've come."

She waited two weeks, and then Leliana began to work on the scars, forcing herself to stretch the much-abused skin. Hours and hours and hours of drills, movements repeated so often that her hands were frequently reduced to a blistered, bloody mess.

Lafevre would often bandage the bard's hands, chiding her for the abuse she wrought on her body. But always there was a twinkle in the Sister's eye, as if she were privy to some great secret unknown to the rest of the world.

The bow was the hardest – Leliana simply could not summon enough of her original strength to use the longbow she had often favored in the Orlesian tournaments. It took weeks of training before she could properly hit a target with a modified shortbow. Months before she could use the modified recurve that had been her favorite.

It was never the same as before. But she slowly began to heal from her terrible ordeal.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

"Why do you live out here?" Leliana asked her one evening, carefully cradling the bowl of soup that Lafevre had presented her upon her return from her training.

This Chantry located on the border between Orlais and Ferelden, saw much harsher winters than the city of Val Royeaux. The tiny chapel bore little resemblance to the Cathedral in Val Royeaux. The Grand Cathedral was massive, a towering edifice that stood proudly over the Orlesian capital. The gilded gold paneling and intricate murals stood as a testament to the might of the Maker. Its floors were a polished marble and no matter where one stood, the musical lilt of the Chant could be heard, sung on high from the main hall.

This Chantry was little bigger than a small farmhouse, its chapel tiny and threadbare, consisting of only a few hard wooden benches that had seen better days. With no permanent Templar posting, it lay to the mercies of any number of brigands or highwaymen who might wander the countryside. Fortunately, its remote location made that possibility exceedingly remote. It had only a few rooms, one of which served as both Sister Lafevre's office as well as her living quarters, another small room that Leliana currently occupied, and a tiny garden that grew few vegetables in its rocky soil.

"As I said before," the sister paused, allowing the thin broth to cool before sipping at it gingerly. "This Chantry used to serve as an outpost when we were at war with Ferelden. There was some talk of abandoning it years ago, but it was determined that it should remain as a safeguard against any Ferelden invasion."

"But you are all alone out here," Leliana pointed out, sipping cautiously at the heated broth. The soup was good, though the broth was a bit bland for her palate. Still, it was nourishment, and the fact that she was able to eat at all was a marked improvement from the earliest days of her recovery.

"That is true." A small smile spread across the wizened lips, the grey eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. "It is not much of an outpost, for sure," Lafevre took another sip of soup. "As I said before, this Chantry has another purpose. It has become a place where the Divine sends those it deems unfit to serve in another capacity. One step from excommunication, if you will."

"What could you have possibly done to deserve this?" As if listening to her thoughts, a particularly loud gust of wind rattled the wooden walls of the Chantry, causing the support beams to groan ominously before settling.

"I had a son."

The bard froze in mid-bite, eyes wide with astonishment, unable to do anything but stare at Lafevre, who continued calmly eating her meal as if she had said nothing out of the ordinary. Oh, it's nothing Leliana – the sky is just very blue today.

Suddenly remembering that she had just taken a mouthful of warm vegetables into her mouth, Leliana began to chew slowly, mulling over this bit of information. If what Lafevre had said was true, then she had perhaps committed one of the greatest sacrileges. To violate a sacred oath to the Maker – that was just not done. Still, Leliana mused with grim irony, she was in no position to judge the sister for whatever crimes she had committed.

After all, the memories of her own judgment were still too fresh.

"A son?" She said calmly, watching the tension ease out of the older woman's posture as she relaxed.

Lafevre's lips pursed into a fine line. "Oh, we knew what we were doing was wrong. Forbidden. But we were so young. I did not join the Chantry by choice, you see. I was given to the Chantry at a young age." The wise gaze softened. "Of course, this does not make it right, but the young are often foolish."

"Who was he?" The words left Leliana's mouth before she could censor them. The gentle grey eyes grew pained.

"He was a Templar. A recruit." A sad smile. "Young, like me. And so very handsome. We wanted to run away together – had planned to. But on the day we were to flee, he never came. I found out later he'd left the order with another lover from the Circle." Leliana's hands flew over her mouth. Lafevre shook her head. "Oh yes, such the fool was I. But it was no matter. I was too far along in my pregnancy to dare end it, so I did the only thing I knew how. I confessed."

"But what… what did they do?"

Lafevre's head shook slightly. "The revered mother was furious with me. She threatened to have me thrown out. But then she took pity on me. She sent me to a small town in Ferelden called Lothering. The revered mother there was the sympathetic sort. She protected me until the baby was born."

Tears were streaming down Leliana's cheek. She had been so relieved when she was not with child. She could not imagine what it would have been like being left with such a permanent reminder of the horrors she endured. Long arms slipped around her waist, drawing the young woman into a comforting hug.

She didn't want to ask. But she had to. "The child?"

Lafevre smiled. "A boy. He found a good home with a loving family. I remained with the Chantry in Lothering for some time before returning to Ferelden. I could not return to Val Royeaux – but I was able to find my place serving here. The Maker has a plan for us all, child." Leliana buried her face in Lafevre's shoulder, silent tears tracking down her cheeks.

"Do not cry, sweet child." Lafevre's thumb brushed over the bard's cheek. "I have long forgiven him for his sins. I have found peace in the Maker's will."

"How can you forgive someone who treated you so cruelly?" The blue eyes lifted, searching the older woman's face.

"My dearest Leliana. Forgiveness is not for the one who has sinned. " She pressed her lips against the bard's forehead. "It is for the victim of the transgression. Forgiveness is how we move on."

Lafevre smiled. There was grief there, yes. And despair. But deep within the bard's soul, she could see something else. A seed. A kernel. Small, barely noticeable if one did not know where to look.

But she could see how desperately the younger woman clung to it. And it made her smile.

For what was left in the end but hope?

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

The bard looked over at her lover's pinched expression, shaking her head lightly at the tightly drawn features behind the stoic mask.

"I remained with her for several months before parting ways. By that time, I had regained enough strength to travel alone, and she provided me with provisions and coin, as well as the directions to the Chantry in Lothering.

Leliana settled into the warm arms, resting her head on the comforting shoulder. "That is how I came to Ferelden. And to Lothering."

For a long time, neither one spoke. Kallian, because she was still processing the details of the bard's tale, and Leliana because she was perfectly comfortable in the serenity afforded by her lover's arms.

"Thank you for sharing that with me." The familiar lips brushed over her forehead. The green eyes found hers, filled with sadness and heartbreak, burning with unshed tears.

Leliana smiled sadly. It was sweet, really, that Kallian would cry for her, mourn for her, but she had long ago moved beyond that time. She reached up with a lone finger, tracing a fine trail along the elf's cheekbone. "It is not a time I like to remember," the bard said quietly. "But it is a part of me, and it is a tale that needs to be told."

Those green eyes darted away. "How can you…how can you be so calm about it? They… what they did…"

"The Maker has paid them back a hundred fold." Leliana rested her head against the warm shoulder. "About a year after I came to Lothering, I received a missive from Sister Lafevre. Gerard – the Chevalier I told you about – there was a riot. He, and many of his men were taken hostage by the prisoners. They were found tortured and killed when the Empress sent her reinforcements." A small smile. "Marjolaine is dead, as you well know…"

"Not dead enough," Kallian groused, her eyes flashing darkly.

"She will find her justice at the Maker's hands." It was cute, really. Kallian's anger on her behalf made her even more endearing. The bard couldn't help but reach out, trailing a finger along her lover's stomach, feeling the muscles twitch and flutter.

"Enough talk of dark things," Leliana murmured, her lips brushing against the hollow of Kallian's throat. "I can think of far better things to do with my time."

Leliana allowed herself to be swept away by the increasing passions and increasingly urgent touches – caresses that were filled with such love and adoration it left her breathless.

It did not take long to reach the pinnacle, and when she fell, Kallian was there, whispering words of adoration and devotion, and of a love so eternal not even death would part them.

And in those arms she would find absolution.

She would find peace.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you for reading. A special note, I debated long and hard about whether or not to have Leli sign the confession. I actually wrote the story both ways...but in the end I rather liked the idea of a final act of defiance. Again, V for Vendetta was an inspiration for this story, so I drew a lot of parallels between the two stories. Stay tuned for the next chapter, which is in process. It features a certain favored pirate and our favorite Warden, and will be somewhat lighter fare...


	4. Circumstance

**Title:** Circumstance

**Rating:** T

**Author's Note:** This idea snuck its way into my head a long time ago, but it took a long time for me to hammer out the details. I apologize for the lack of updates, but my muse has been on a long summer vacation and I have been strangely bereft of any story ideas or desire to write. This does take place as part of my Lost Scrolls series, but is unusual in that it is set in the past.

As always, Bioware owns Dragon Age, Dragon Age 2, etc. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>"There she is!"<p>

"Get her!"

"Don't let _it_ get away!"

The form was a blur as it raced through the marketplace, overturning carts laden with exotic oils and fine fabrics, barrels stuffed full of apples and even a few crates of chickens that flapped angrily in protest. Angry cries of merchants echoed across the crowded square as their wares flew up in the air, adding to the already substantial chaos of a busy marketplace.

_Damnitdamnitdamnit..._the mantra echoed in her head as she ducked into an alleyway, weaving an intricate maze past a number of urchins and beggars, who barely gave her a second look. Such occurrences were not uncommon in Denerim — scarcely a day went by in the Fereldan capital that there wasn't at least one thief that went to the gallows. But not her, damn it. Never her. She was too careful, too cautious. She always picked her marks well.

_At this rate, I'll be lucky to escape the hangman's noose. _The elf picked up the pace. The only chance she had was to lose her pursuers in the narrow, crowded streets, and hope against all hope that they hadn't recognized her face.

At least she had that going in her favor. Neither too pretty nor too plain, no one would be able to argue that she, Kallian, stood out as anything extraordinary among the hundreds of other alienage elves.

Just a little further now. Over this bin, cut around this corner, duck down this alleyway...the sounds of gulls screeching in the salty air.

It should have been enough to lose them. All of them. Yet she could still hear the telltale signs of booted feet behind her, hot on her tail. _Damn it, why are they still chasing me? _Fear began to snake its way down her throat. It was only twenty-five silver! That shem – Arlessa something-or-other – had at least five times that much dangling from her ear lobes. And it would feed her family for at least a couple of months, if not more.

Besides, Shianni's birthday was coming up and she needed a new dress.

_Just my luck picking the one shem who would order pursuit_ — but she hadn't been able to help herself...the Arl's wife had just been standing there and guards were all busy stuffing their faces with cookies from the baker's stand and...

Maker she was hungry.

And distracted, as luck would have it. Distracted enough to have not noticed she had taken a wrong turn, running smack dab into a pair of breasts.

Of course, the breasts were not standing alone, that would have been silly. They were attached to a body, of course, a very attractive one at that, though Kallian would not notice that right away.

Instead, she gave a rather undignified grunt, which was muffled by the ample amount of cleavage in her face. She reached up, pushing away, which only served to unbalance her even further, sending her tumbling backwards.

Some cutpurse she was, her ear tips burning in humiliation. She was so happy Soris and Shianni weren't here to see that. She'd never live it down.

Of course, her green eyes immediately locked onto expensive-looking boots in front of her, following the mass of buckles and rivets to...

Her face turned bright red.

She wasn't even wearing pants!

"Now aren't you just _delicious_..." the low, sensual voice bore the traces of amusement. The shem crouched down, bringing in to focus a pair of light brown eyes that were dotted liberally with flecks of gold in the sun's light. Her skin was the color of toffee, rich and warm and kissed by the sun. Her ebony locks were pulled back from her face and secured by a turquoise bandana. She rested her well-muscled forearms on her knees, those eyes drifting up and down her body with all the satisfaction of a cat that had cornered its prey.

Kallian might have gulped, but all of a sudden her mouth had decided to quit working.

"If you wanted a tumble kitten, all you needed to do was ask." A pair of full lips quirked into a bemused smile, those eyes examining her with frightening intensity.

"I..." her eyes were firmly glued to the woman's assets, wondering how the hell they could possibly stay in place behind such tight...

Why was her throat so dry?

A lazy, knowing smile spread across the human's lips, those amber eyes skimming up and down the elf's lithe form. "I keep a room at the Pearl, but if you'd rather a go on those crates..." she jerked her head over to a stack of barrels in the alley's corner.

_Wait, she's not suggesting..._

"There she is!"

"It's the knife ear!"

"Now we got her!"

_Andraste's ass..._

The shem's eyes now shot up in irritation, glancing back and forth at the trio of rather large, heavily armed men blocking the only exit out of the alleyway. They flickered back down at Kallian, studying the elf with a hint of wry amusement. "And how thoughtful. You brought friends!" A slow, easy drawl caressed the air as the woman rose gracefully to her feet, approaching the men, her hips swaying suggestively. "I wouldn't have pegged you as the sharing sort." A step towards the men. "What..." A pair of daggers fell seamlessly into the woman's hands. "A delightful..." Kallian blinked several times, uncertain that the daggers hadn't just materialized out of thin air. "...surprise."

The men glanced uncertainly towards each other, tips of outstretched swords wavering slightly. Was this woman trying to threaten or seduce? Those daggers spoke one story, but her hips a very different one.

Impossible. She was just one woman, against three heavily armed guards.

The largest, ugliest of them (probably the captain, Kallian noted grimly) smiled through a mouthful of half-rotted teeth, squaring his shoulders in a clear attempt at intimidation.

"Get out of out way, woman. We've got business with that knife-ear." His tone left very little to the imagination as to what form this "business" would take, drawing an involuntary shudder from the elf. Kallian grimaced at the smell of unwashed bodies and sweat, scrambling clumsily to her own feet. A quick glance around the alley confirmed she was indeed trapped, so she hurriedly pulled out a small penknife she'd nicked off a nobleman last year. For all the good it would do her — her hands were trembling so badly she could barely grip it.

"Oh, is it a party?" the woman's voice dropped slightly, loosening her hold on her daggers. Kallian's heart sank. It was clear that she wasn't going to get any help from this shem. Her pulse began to pound wildly, eyes darting around to find any possible escape route.

The man's nostrils flared slightly, his eyes darting to points further south, caution and need warring with each other. "I just _love_ parties," another step, this time, just south of arm's reach. The two other guards glanced thoughtfully at each other, a thinly veiled smirk passed between them.

Kallian barely suppressed a curse, tightening her grip on her dagger, readying herself for a last minute dash to freedom.

But what happened next occurred so quickly that Kallian barely had chance to draw breath.

The woman's foot shot up, connecting with the first soldier's groin with such ferocity that it was a wonder the man was able to remain upright at all. The soldier, who'd been reaching for the female, let out a strangled gurgle, somewhere between a yelp and a whimper, his hands immediately reaching to protect his sensitive bits. His sword had just tumbled out of his outstretched fingertips when the second blow came, the hilt of a dagger on the back of his head, sending him sprawling.

One down.

This, of course, happened within the span of a few seconds. Within a blink of an eye, the woman had behind the outstretched swords of the other two guards, one of whom swiped clumsily swiped at the woman's head.

But she was already on the move. The sword passed cleanly through the empty air, while the woman ducked easily under the blade, lithely dancing behind the soldier, delivering a swift jab to his kidneys.

Just in the nick of time, because just as he rose onto his tiptoes, the other guard had begun to close the space, his face contorted in anger, sword lifting to deliver a powerful blow, falling short only when the woman's arms trapped his friend's behind his back, honed blade brought to bear.

"Aren't you the feisty one?" the woman's lips hovered next to her captive's ear. Then, in a frenzy of motion, the woman pushed the trapped guard into his companion with a violent shove, using her booted foot to send the pair into the wall, flashing a quick glance over her shoulder to Kallian that could have only one meaning.

_Run._

Needing no further invitation, Kallian raced towards the entrance, just a hairsbreadth behind the taller human. Behind her, she could hear the sounds of muffled yells, but much to her relief, they didn't seem to be in pursuit.

"Keep up, kitten." The melodic voice of the human snapped Kallian out of her musings, and the elf gave her full attention to the race ahead, following the mysterious woman as they raced up and down stairs, through crowded alleyways and finally into a large, squat building at the edge of the waterfront. Racing inside the door after the woman, Kallian came to a halt, hands on her knees, huffing for air. She glanced surreptitiously at the taller woman, unable to decide whether or not she should admire or fear her.

In less time than it took to draw breath, that woman had managed to disarm three much larger, well-armed opponents. And she had barely broken a sweat! Such a person was either very foolhardy or very dangerous.

"I haven't had that much fun in _days_," the melodic voice practically sang, those honeyed eyes glancing towards the elf with amusement and something… something…

That something made Kallian's pulse spike, her heart thundering wildly in her chest. Only instead of the expected fear, she felt ... The elf swallowed past the lump in her throat, ignoring the strange fluttering in her belly. Instead, she peered curiously at the she...no, the woman (though calling her such took a considerable amount of control), straightening to her full height. "How did you do that?"

"What, the duel?" Tanned hands began to brush at something — some dust perhaps? — on the top of those leather boots. Kallian studiously averted her gaze, her cheeks flushing hotly as her mind flashed to earlier, when she had caught more than a passing glimpse of flesh.

The woman's lips curled with amusement, as if well aware of the effect her appearance had on the elf. "Kitten, that's what I do. Duel. It's fun."

She ignored the pet name (_Kitten? Seriously?)_ and instead tried to keep her mind on the business at hand. "Why would you help me?" Kallian pressed, hoping that she had not overstepped her bounds. She wanted to ... no, she needed to understand why one woman would go so far out of her way to help a single elf. "I'm just some knife ear from the alienage."

Those eyes darted up, flashing briefly with annoyance. Kallian swallowed, at first afraid that she had offended the human, and then dismayed that she cared enough at all to be concerned about the emotions of a single shem.

After a long pause, the woman stepped towards the countertop, leaning casually against the edge and crossing her arms in front of her chest, which heaved in a silent sigh (Kallian still couldn't figure out how the woman managed to keep … _those_ … from falling out when she walked).

"Three reasons," the woman drummed her fingertips on the counter. "One, they were pigs." At Kallian's puzzled expression, the woman's eyes rolled in exasperation. "Oh honestly, look around. Where do you think they came from?"

Kallian did, her eyes having adjusted to the dim light, taking in the dark, scarred countertops and musty corners of ... "...the brothel?" she guessed.

The woman nodded. "They've built up a bit of a reputation here. Gave a few of the girls…" the woman's voice took on a slightly possessive tone, "a hard time. Sanga had them thrown out." A pause. "Second, I like to duel. Like I said – it's what I do."

"And the third reason?" Kallian's eyes darted quickly to the woman's fingertips, which had been drumming a steady beat on the countertop.

A smirk, as one of those hands reached up, long fingers dipping beneath her bodice...

Kallian's mouth dropped. The necklace dangling from the woman's fingertips had to be worth a small fortune. The gold shone even in this dim candlelight, studded liberally with jewels that had to be worth more than all the homes in the alienage.

But more than that, Kallian had seen that necklace before – on a certain Arlessa's neck.

"What...?" Kallian spluttered, her cheeks growing considerably darker. "How...?"

"A little too easy." The jewels disappeared back beneath the fabric, head lifting to meet Kallian's in silent challenge. "The guards were so preoccupied by a certain cutpurse they hardly noticed me..."

"Buh...I..." Kallian's mouth clamped shut. She should have been angry. She should have been – something. Embarrassed, perhaps? It was one of the oldest tricks in the book, and she'd unwittingly been duped into the role of decoy. Only it clearly hadn't been planned – she had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

No…she couldn't be angry for that. After all, it would have been easier to just walk away and let the guards take Kallian. The theft of the jewels wouldn't have remained unnoticed for long, and it would have been easy to let the elf take the blame for both sets of crimes. Instead, the woman had saved her.

Kallian's mind flashed back to the fight, the graceful, lithe way the woman had danced around those three guards. The way she had moved...

"Can you teach me?" The words came out entirely too quickly, drawing another blush.

A flicker of surprise passed quickly across the woman's face. "I don't..."

"Please." Kallian swallowed, hesitating for a moment before she pulled out the purse she'd nicked. As much as it pained her to do it – some lessons were too important to pass up. "Here," she held out the bag. "Just a few lessons? I'm a quick learner."

Those eyes stared at the coin purse for some time. Then a small, sly smirk passed across those full lips. "I'll bet." Those long fingers plucked the purse from Kallian's fingertips. "Be here tomorrow morning, kitten." The woman turned to leave.

Kallian's eyes followed the shapely derrière as it sauntered towards the door, her breath hitching at the sight. "Wait..." the woman paused, turning and regarding Kallian with an amused smirk. The elf's ears darkened when she realized that she'd been caught ogling the human. "You never left me a name."

A sly grin passed across the woman's face. "You're right. I didn't."

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

_"Her?"_

Kallian winced at the strangled accusation, her fingers halting their progress. She's been in the middle of combing Leliana's hair out with her fingertips, a welcome way to pass the time during those long night watches. Usually, it was Leliana who told the stories during these quiet evenings, but this time, the bard had requested a story of her own. Something to satisfy a niggling curiosity.

Namely, who had been Kallian's _first_.

The elf pursed her lips – she had hesitated to bring up the particular incident in question – after all, they'd been lovers for less than a fortnight and while she knew Leliana was curious about her history, the bard had thus far refrained from asking about what was sure to be a very sensitive topic.

Leliana pulled away, shooting a quick glance over her shoulder, pale eyes filled with hurt and a bit of betrayal. "And you did not think to tell me this before?" _Like back at the Pearl?_ That part remained unspoken.

Kallian grimaced – truth be told she had almost forgotten the incident in question – it had occurred a year or so before she'd became a Warden and it had only been a chance that they had run into the pirate again. Of course, she had not been alone that time, brought to the brothel by some rather disturbing reports of missing Warden sympathizers. Leliana, Zevran, and Alistair had all been accompanied her, and even though her relationship with the bard was still in its infancy, Kallian had studiously managed to avoid the pirate's none-too-subtle flirtations, shooting an apologetic look towards Leliana, who at the time had barely seemed to notice the attentions (with the threat of Marjolaine hanging grimly over her head, Kallian could hardly blame her).

Now, though, it seemed that her past had come home to roost.

Kallian forced herself to meet the chilly gaze, drawing in a deep breath as she tried to remain calm. "It," the elf forced herself not to blush, "happened long before we ever met, and it meant nothing." A pause. "Not like us."

"I…" Uncertainty clouded the bard's gaze as she looked towards the campfire. "I…" the pale eyelids fluttered closed. "No, of course not." Still, her voice held a hint of reservation. "I…how long were you together?"

"We weren't." An honest reply. "We spent a few nights together, and that was the extent of it." Kallian paused, chewing her lip nervously. "She saved my life – and taught me how to defend myself if the same should happen again."

"And so you slept with her out of a sense of duty?" There was a note of bitterness in the bard's tone.

Actually, very little sleeping had been involved, but Kallian wasn't about to admit that. "Not at first, no. The lessons she gave me were exactly that – lessons. Strictly professional."

"Yes," Leliana grumbled. "I'm sure she was very interested in teaching you all about her _profession_." Those eyes flashed angrily, brimming with unshed tears as the bard made to stand.

Andraste's ass, but she could be so infuriating. "Leli," she reached out, grabbing her lover's wrists. "Listen to me." The other woman froze, her eyes fluttering shut at the press of Kallian's fingertips against her wrists. "In all the time I have known you, have I ever once criticized you for your work as a bard?"

The Orlesian exhaled sharply, shoulders seeming to deflate. Hesitantly Kallian reached out with a pair of fingertips, bringing the redhead's chin up, forcing their eyes to meet. "You are the one I choose to spend my life with. Not her." She paused. "You're the woman I love."

There was a long, pregnant pause in which the two women studied each other in silence, then Leliana dipped her head in acceptance.

Breathing an internal sigh of relief, Kallian opened her arms, her shoulders relaxing as the bard settled easily into them, resting her chin on the Warden's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," the bard whispered, her nose buried in the crook of the elf's neck. "I just…when I remember the way she acted…at the Pearl."

Kallian exhaled with a sigh. She had been surprised to see Isabela again, especially after so many years. But they had parted on amicable terms, and even though Isabela had flirted shamelessly with the elf over a game of Wicked Grace, Kallian had refused her advances for a lesson of a more _private _variety.

"We parted on good terms, but there are no feelings there," Kallian reassured her, lifting a hand to cup the bard's cheek, her heart fluttering slightly as Leliana leaned into the caress. "Besides, my future is with you."

Her only response was the press of the Leliana's lips against her own.


	5. Goodbyes

**Title: **Goodbyes

**Rating:** M for scenes of lovemaking between two women. If you don't like it, I would suggest looking elsewhere for your reading entertainment. _See Spot Run_, perhaps?

**Disclaimers:** Dragon Age and its associated characters are owned by Bioware. Kallian is mine…ouch! Okay, she's Leliana's. Geesh. *Nurses a knot on the back of her head*

**Author's Notes:** A special thank you to everyone who stuck with me thus far, both for _Last Dance_ and through all the chapters of _Lost Scrolls_. And now for a sad announcement – this chapter will be my last for this series. For those of you who follow my work, I will now be focusing my attention on my Mass Effect story, _Second Chances_, and the occasional one-shot with Hawke and Isabela as they come to mind.

Special thanks to **Snafu1000**, whose _Moments In Time_ story was an inspiration for me posting my own work-in-progress, as well as **Leogrl19**, who has never failed to make me laugh with her shockingly realistic portrayal of my favorite pirate wench in _My Tornado_. These excellent ladies were wonderful betas during the course of my story.

That being said, neither of them have seen this final chapter, which takes place shortly after Riordan's revelation. I take full responsibility for any continuity and/or grammatical errors.

Enjoy.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Goodbyes<span>**

A pair of green eyes stared into the dancing flames, unseeing.

_**If I fall in battle, it will be up to one of you to take the final blow.**_

She was hunched over, knees drawn tightly against her chest, arms wrapped firmly around her legs. Perhaps, if she made herself as small as possible, this nightmare would go away.

_**I have a way out, you see.**_

Liars. Every last one of them. Duncan. Riordan. Morrigan. The sisters at the Chantry in Denerim. Everyone who had ever told her that things would be okay. That somehow they would make it through.

_**You don't have to die, Kallian. **__Those eyes lifted now, golden orbs filled with fear and something else. Something more desperate.__** I can still help you. Don't throw your life away needlessly.**_

_No...go away. Leave me alone, damn __**you.**_ Kallian's forehead dropped to her knees, squinting her eyes against the tears that burned.

_**I'll do it. I'll strike the final blow.**_

_No, damn it, Alistair you can't. You have to be king. Which means I have no choice. I never had a choice._

_**How could you? **__Leliana's voice, choked with emotion, tears freely flowing down her cheeks. __**No...no no NO! You promised me we'd be together. You PROMISED!**_

_I didn't know. Damn it, I didn't know! They never told me a Grey Warden had to die!_

_**How could you?**_

_Maker, please, I don't want this, anything but this._

_**You'll come back and see me, right? **__Shianni's hopeful gaze staring into hers. __**When you've ended the Blight. You'll come home?**_

_Of course. Why wouldn't I? I didn't know._

The door slammed open, Kallian's head jerking sharply in the direction of the sound.

_Leliana._

The bard's form filled the frame, but without any of her usual composure, hair mussed, face streaked with dirt and tears. Kallian gasped at the sight, rising quickly to her feet, only to find herself pinned against the wall as the pair of familiar lips found hers, kissing her with bruising force.

And Maker help her, she kissed back, fingernails scraping up the leather armor, winding into the short auburn tresses, pulling forward with an intensity borne out of desperation. Kallian moaned as the bard's tongue swept into her mouth, demanding a response she was powerless to resist. The relentless assault pushed any and all questions from her mind, forcing her attentions to the _here_ and _now_.

She gasped as familiar hands slipped around her body, grabbing her from behind with an urgent thrust of a thigh between her legs. Kallian's breath caught in her throat as Leliana pulled her even closer, until her legs were wrapped snugly around the bard's hips and it became nearly impossible to draw breath.

Without breaking contact, the bard carried her towards the large bed that occupied a great deal of space along the opposite wall. The two women half-stumbled, half-fell onto the plush down mattress in a frantic tumble of limbs and fleeting touches. Kallian gasped as the bard's fingertips trailed quickly across her hip, slipping between her legs with renewed urgency, brushing aside the offending fabric of her smallclothes into the hidden warmth concealed. Her hips arched into the bard's touch, hissing as the suddenness of the abrupt intrusion gave way to the most wonderful feeling of _fullness_.

They slipped into an easy cadence, each woman innately attuned to the familiar rhythm of their lovemaking. Only when the urgent need for air forced her to break the kiss did she finally draw back, green eyes boring into the bard's, caught up in the tide of intense emotions.

Her vision blurred instantly, eyes burning from the intrusion of unshed tears. She blinked rapidly, and only after her sight cleared did she take notice of the twin rivers snaking their way down the bard's face.

No words were spoken. No flowery declarations of love. No promises.

Her hips ground against the bard's hand with renewed urgency, keeping pace with the accelerating thrusts, breaths coming in ragged gasps. She shuddered violently as Leliana took her to the brink, her cries of pleasure swallowed by the bard's mouth against hers, tongue demanding entrance that was readily given.

Those long, experienced fingers drew out the delectable sensations, through one crest and then another, and then a third. Then that mouth parted from hers, soon to be replaced by the delectable sensation of teeth nibbling their way down the long, lean lines of a neck, alternately nipping and then kissing the skin. There was a certain honesty in the act, an inherent reverence in the way the bard paid homage to her flesh.

The fingers withdrew, bringing with their departure an expected flood of moisture. Those same calloused fingertips slid beneath the straps of her leather armor, releasing buckles with characteristic deftness.

Kallian's eyes opened, reaching up to cup the bard's cheek tenderly. Leliana froze, and for a moment neither woman moved, caught within the spell of the moment. Then the elf's fingers found purchase beneath a trembling chin, forcing those tearful blue eyes to meet hers. So many emotions were swirling beneath those cobalt depths. Sorrow, certainly. And fear. Anger and despair.

But above all else, there was love. Always there was love.

She captured a falling tear on the edge of a thumb, shifting to bring her own body closer to Leliana's. Without breaking eye contact, Kallian began to unfasten the catches holding the familiar drakeskin. For her part, the bard remained very still, lower lip caught between her teeth as the jerkin was parted from flesh.

Kallian's throat went dry, green eyes sweeping across the bard's body, registering every scar, every bruise, every mark that told the tale of their journey together. From the puckered flesh just beneath her collarbone (an arrow from a Darkspawn crossbow), to the long, thin semicircle where Swiftrunner had nearly ended her life. A thin red line — remnants of a Hurlock's sword.

She reached out, allowing her fingertips to trail along the bard's quivering abdominals, shrugging quickly out of her own leathers until nothing separated them.

This time, when their lips met, it was unhurried. Kallian lost herself in the sweet sensation of the bard's mouth against her own, the dampness of her cheeks. The way Leliana's pulse fluttered when Kallian's fingertips trailed up her inner arm.

The bard's hands reached up, cradling her lover's face as if it were hewn from the finest porcelain, lips and tongue swirling around the Warden's own.

Kallian pulled the slender frame against her own, losing herself in those wonderful lips for a seeming eternity, her nails tracing down along the bard's spine, past the curve of a hip and onto the gentle swells below. Here, she exerted pressure, and reluctantly the bard complied, allowing the Warden the guide her hips forward.

The elf drew a deep breath, inhaling deeply of the bard's sweet scent, the faintly floral aroma causing her stomach to flutter in anticipation. The bard's hands went to the headboard, though it was hardly necessary — Kallian was more than capable of supporting the bard's weight in this manner.

The elf dipped her head, her tongue running languidly along the bard's most intimate regions, drawing an appreciative moan from the woman above her. Wrapping her arms around the slender hips, she established a rhythm that soon had the Orlesian moaning loudly in pleasure.

Kallian shifted, maneuvering her hand until she had access to the bard's folds, slipping carefully inside. Her tongue slid upwards, finding the familiar bundle of nerves that sent her lover reeling. Leliana let out a ragged gasp, calling Kallian's name loudly as her climax began, shuddering as the waves of pleasure coursed throughout her body. The Warden waited until the last of the tremors escaped the bard before guiding her lover down.

They lay there for a long time, the bard's head tucked against the Warden's shoulder, staring silently into space. Kallian's had no idea how much time had passed before Leliana spoke.

"She loved you, you know." More of a statement than a question, delivered in a harsh rasp that clearly betrayed the Leliana's thoughts on the subject matter. Kallian's eyes closed, knowing instinctively that the bard was right, though the reasons why would forever elude her.

"I know." Kallian's admitted, grateful when Leliana let the subject drop. As much as Morrigan's betrayal enraged her, she did not want to focus on such a thing on what could be one of her last nights of life.

"There's still a chance that Riordan could do it," Kallian offered, though the platitudes seemed empty. The senior Warden was still very weak and hardly in any shape to fight. The thought of him surviving long enough to slay the Archdemon was almost laughable – they would be fortunate if he did not fall to the first genlock that crossed his path.

The bard's eyes closed, not offering a response. Perhaps there was a kernel of truth to Kallian's words – if so, she would not lose hope. Kallian allowed herself a moment to memorize Leliana's features, committing the image to memory.

Thoughts of the upcoming battle raced through her mind. How much time would it take for the Darkspawn horde to march to Denerim? Would the residents manage to flee in time? What about her family, her friends?

What would it feel like to die?

Only belatedly did she realize that those blue eyes were studying intently.

"I want to be with you, when you face the Archdemon." Leliana's tone was low, though the words were spoken with utter conviction. "Do not send me away. Promise me that."

Kallian's mouth clamped shut. Truth be told she would much rather leave Leliana on the sidelines, where she knew the bard would be safe. The fighting would be the thickest wherever she and Alistair were. And the thought of Leliana watching her die...

A pair of hands pressed gently on her cheeks, forcing the Warden to meet the resolute gaze. "You will not send me away. I will be there with you. Promise me."

There would be no resistance. "I promise." Kallian whispered quietly. It was oddly comforting, in a way, to know that they would be together in the end.

Leliana's eyes searched hers for a moment, before leaning in, her lips capturing Kallian's own.

The Warden melted into the kiss, allowing the worries of the world to fade away.

Tomorrow, they would march towards Denerim.

Tomorrow, they would face the Archdemon.

Tomorrow, they would surrender to the duty that awaited all Grey Wardens.

Tomorrow.

Tonight, however, was just for them.


End file.
